#getting through these request slowly but surely

[chaes-tea]

── // living the nightmare .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: i looped the ost an unhealthy amount of times. i also haven't written anything in a few years LOL. so things might make little sense. or not make sense at all. enjoy! (pls don't flame me too hard i had a vision idk if it visioned) ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !! + angst

"Jinu!"

He clutches his head and winces, the familiar voice never leaving his head.

The memories– these damn memories that haunt him every second that passes, every step he takes, every breath he breathes. He painfully recalls his sister's sobs, along with his mother's trembling voice as she attempted to comfort her. But he remembers your cries the most.

You. The love of his life. His heart's desire. His soulmate.

He looks at the glowing patterns on his hands. He did it not just for his mother and sister, but for his future, for you. He wanted to give you the world, even if it ended up sounding like a sappy rags to riches story. You deserved so much more than what he could offer.

When he heard Gwi-Ma's voice in his head that day, he thought that this was his chance. A chance for his family to finally be relieved of suffering. The four of you would enter the palace and spend the rest of your lives there. But things took a turn when only he was allowed entry into the palace. He remembers the pain he felt in his heart when the palace doors shut behind him. Even so, he still pressed forward. He would do well in his time in the palace, make money, and send it home.

But Gwi-Ma kept him from doing so. His voice spat excuses after excuses that made him make selfish decisions. Decisions that prevented him from supporting his family. Decisions that kept a sturdy roof over his head, gave him delicious meals every day, and silk sheets every night, all while his family struggled in poverty. The thought of that ate away at him during his time in the palace. The patterns on his skin slowly grew like vines, until it consumed him whole, completely turning him into a demon under the demon king's rule.

The voice in his mind, and the patterns on his body, were constant reminders of his regret, shame, and guilt. They were evidence of his selfish choices– choices that led him to lose his family. This fact has never left him for the past 400 years.

Every few decades, when he would wander the streets of the human realm in search of souls, he would stumble upon a familiar face. The face reminded him of when he first walked through the palace gates alone. He solemnly smiles to himself each time as he observes you. It was nice to see that your iterations always held your kind smile and strong personality, no matter the era or hardships.

He wonders if fate would have allowed him to meet you in every reincarnation, had he stayed human.

He hates how he always thinks about that. He hates his memories of his time as a human, how they always remind him of his betrayal to his loved ones. If hate could defeat Gwi-Ma, the demon king would have been gone long ago.

Now, he sees his service to him as a means to an end. He would get in his good graces, and in exchange for his great deeds to him, he would request for the memories of his past to be erased. A request that would end this 400-year-long nightmare for good.

The Honmoon will be complete soon. Surely, his plan to destroy it will work. That's all Gwi-Ma wants, after all.

He and the other Saja Boys assume human forms and head through the alleyways to the stage they will be performing on. He aimlessly follows the four, rerunning the plan in his head before the performance. A familiar voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

"What's exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?"

He looks up and sees four people: the first in a black baseball cap, a shorter one with a yellow bucket hat, one holding a box, and–

Oh.

It's you again.

What a cruel thing fate is.

[yungistiny]

masterpiece

[ S. Mingi + J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which your boyfriend wants to make video to get him through your and his best friend ends up watching it

warning: dom mingi, dom yunho, switch reader, possessive all three, voyeurism, creampie, sex tape, unprotected sex, overstimulation, edging, oral, choking, squirting, face riding, deep throating, cum play, this shit just filthy yall!!!

genre: smut

pairing: yungi x afab reader

word count: 13.4k

note: this was requested to do a one shot based on Masterpiece by @lonely--september

masterlist:

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The apartment was quieter than usual, lit only by the low amber glow of the bedside lamp. Mingi had his head on your stomach, his arm lazily draped across your waist, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. He always got like this before leaving, clingy, quiet, thoughtful in a way he’d never admit to the others.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging softly at the roots, and he let out a little groan, turning his face to press a kiss just beneath your ribs. “Baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “I wanna ask you something… and you can say no.”

Your fingers paused in his hair. “Okay…” He looked up at you, a little sheepish and a whole lot horny. “I wanna make a video. Of us. Just for me. For tour.”

Your eyebrows lifted, but you weren’t surprised. You had caught him jerking off to a photo of you just last week and whining your name under his breath. “Like… a full video?” you teased. “Production quality? Soundtrack and credits?”

Mingi grinned, all teeth and dimples, before biting his bottom lip. “I want something to fuck my fist to when I miss you,” he added, not bothering to play innocent. “Wanna see the way you look when I’m inside you. The way you moan my name. I want to remember everything.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “Okay,” you breathed, a little stunned by your own immediate reaction. “Let’s do it.” He sat up slowly, eyes darkening, his hands already reaching for the nightstand drawer where he kept his GoPro and tripod, because of course he was that prepared. “I’ll set it up,” he murmured, climbing off the bed, “but I want you in something sexy. Something mine.”

You rolled out of bed on shaky legs, heart pounding, heat pooling low. As you walked toward your dresser, Mingi’s voice followed, “Oh, and babe?” You turned, halfway into his old oversized tee. “Don’t wear panties.”

The soft whirr of the camera adjusting its focus filled the room. Mingi crouched beside the bed, bare chested in sweats that hung low on his hips, forehead furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the tripod angle. The little preview screen glowed beside him, reflecting the warm lighting he’d dimmed just right.

He was focused. Lined it up perfectly so the bed would be center frame, your pillows fluffed, the sheets slightly rumpled, just enough to hint at what was coming.

But then he looked up. And saw you. Standing with bare legs, messy hair, and that black Alexander McQueen shirt, his favorite one. The one with the subtle embroidered skull on the back, soft as sin and just short enough to be dangerous. He stopped breathing. “Fuck,” he said it like a prayer, dragging his eyes down your legs, then back up to where the shirt hung loose over your chest. “You’re tryna kill me.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You said something of yours.”

“Didn’t mean my favorite,” he mumbled, standing up slowly like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to worship you or bend you over immediately. You walked in slow, deliberate, every step a tease. He watched the sway of the shirt, how it lifted just a little with each movement. No bra. No panties. Just you, in his shirt, and that look in your eyes. “Camera ready?” you asked, stopping at the edge of the bed.

He licked his lips. Nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s rolling.” You raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

“I wanna get everything,” he said, stepping closer, hands hovering at your hips. “From the second you walk in. From the second I lose my fucking mind.” He leaned in, nosing at your neck, breathing you in.

The camera kept recording, its little red light blinking quietly. It caught the way Mingi’s hands finally touched you, sliding over the hem of the shirt to cup your bare ass. It caught the way he groaned when he realized exactly how naked you were underneath.

“Turn around for me,” he whispered, voice husky and low in your ear. You did. And the camera caught that too, the slow spin, the little smirk over your shoulder, the glimpse of underboob where the shirt gaped when you moved.

Mingi stepped back to admire you through the viewfinder. “Jesus, baby. You look like sin in 4K.” You turned your head, lips curling. “Then come get your masterpiece.”

He didn’t even hit pause. Didn’t touch you right away. He just sat on the edge of the bed, long legs spread, letting his eyes drag up your body like a slow caress. You stood between his knees, breathing shallow, the hem of his shirt barely skimming your upper thighs. His eyes lingered on the bare skin underneath. The twitch of your muscles when he didn’t make a move. The way your nipples visibly hardened through the soft black fabric.

He reached out finally, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, fingers spreading across the curve of your ass as he pulled you closer. “This shirt…” he murmured, nosing against your stomach, lips brushing the fabric like a benediction, “You don’t know what it does to me.” He looked up, eyes dark and heavy lidded. “Or maybe you do.”

You smirked, but it melted the second his mouth opened against your hip, kissing a line to the crease of your thigh. He kissed you like he had time. Like this wasn’t the night before he had to leave. Like he didn’t plan to burn every second of this into his memory.

The camera caught his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slightly, thumbs stroking the soft skin where your legs met. His fingers dipped under the hem of the shirt but didn’t go higher. Not yet. Instead, he leaned back just a little and murmured, “Sit on me.”

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling his thick thighs. The moment your bare heat made contact with the soft cotton of his sweats, you shivered. He felt it and grinned, lazy and cocky, grinding up just a little so you rubbed right along his length, half hard but growing with every second.

“Camera’s got the best seat in the house,” he said, glancing over your shoulder at the preview screen. One hand slid down your back, cupping your ass, while the other came up to rest on your waist. “Let’s give it something worth remembering.” His mouth found your throat next, open mouthed kisses against your skin as you started rocking slow, subtle, grinding down on him. The drag of cotton against your clit was just enough to tease. Just enough to make you gasp when he shifted his hips up to meet yours.

The shirt slid up higher with every motion, your ass on full display in the camera now, back arched, breath catching. “Feel good, baby?” he rasped, lips grazing your ear. “Mhm,” you nodded, already dazed, “but I need more.”

He chuckled low, one of those deep, breathy sounds that sent heat straight through you. “I know you do.” Still, he didn’t rush. His hand moved from your waist to your throat, not tight, just holding. His fingers traced your pulse, thumb dragging up under your jaw to tilt your face toward him. “I want the camera to see your face when you fall apart.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours. He tasted like mint and something darker, like want. And when you moaned into his mouth, he gripped your hips tighter, thrusting up once, hard enough to make you jolt.

“Mingi..”

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to speak against your lips. “You’ll get it. But not yet.” His hand slipped between your bodies, under the hem of the shirt at last. His fingertips slid through your folds, already wet, already aching. He groaned when he felt it. “Fuck. That wet already? You really wore this for me just to get ruined in it, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding, rocking into his hand shamelessly. His finger circled your clit slowly as you reached into his sweats to stroke him. “Good girl.” The shirt was bunched up now, riding high on your waist, baring your body to the camera. And still, he didn’t take it off. Didn’t let you lose that last piece of him.

Because that was the point, wasn’t it? To keep it intimate. To make it his. To take a piece of you with him, in his shirt, on his video, falling apart on his dick.

Mingi leaned back against the headboard, arms spread, sweatpants already pushed down just enough to free his dick, hard now, thick and flushed, curved slightly toward his stomach. You didn’t even realize when he’d taken them off, but the sight of him like that, shirtless, legs spread wide, panting just from a few strokes of your hand, was enough to have you ready to beg.

You slid down his body slowly, knees sinking into the mattress between his thighs. The camera caught your every move, the glint in your eye, the way you bit your lip as your fingers wrapped around him. He was hot in your palm, twitching slightly, precum already gathering at the tip.

“You always get this hard for me?” You murmured, stroking him slowly, twisting at the head just enough to make him grunt. Mingi tilted his head back, biting his lip, letting out a long groan as your thumb brushed over his tip again. “Always.” His voice was low, breathless.

You leaned in, tongue flicking over the head, tasting the salt of him. He twitched again in your grip, his hips jerking upward instinctively. “Shit… fuck, baby…”

You smiled against him, kissing down the shaft before licking your way back up. You teased the underside with your tongue, then sank down slowly, inch by inch, while your hand kept working what you couldn’t take yet. Mingi’s hand slid into your hair, not to control, just to feel you. To ground himself. “God, you’re so good at that,” he muttered, watching the way your lips wrapped around him. “Just like that, baby… fuck, that tongue…. you’re perfect.”

The sound of him filled the room. Heavy breaths, soft curses, the wet glide of your mouth and hand. You bobbed your head, sucking a little harder as you stroked the base, your other hand resting on his thigh for balance. Every time you pulled off, you spit into your palm and stroked him again, lips shining, then dove back in deeper. “Shit, look at you,” Mingi panted, eyes locked on you and the red light blinking just behind. “My girl… making me come undone with her fucking mouth.”

Your hand pumped faster, your lips slick, throat working as you pushed yourself further, eyes locked on his. “Camera’s getting the best view,” he choked out. “Fuck…. my pretty baby with my dick down her throat.” You moaned around him and that, that sound, was what did it.

His thighs tensed. His grip in your hair tightened. “I’m gonna come…. fuck, baby, I’m gonna…”

You didn’t stop. You held him there. Let him spill hot and fast down your throat, moaning low and wrecked as you swallowed all of it. Your fingers never stopped moving, milking him through every last drop. You licked your lips as you pulled off, eyes half lidded, hair wild, cheeks flushed. He was still panting when you looked up at him, tongue flicking out to gather the last taste from your lip.

Then, with a wicked little smirk, you turned to the camera. Opened your mouth just a bit. And stuck out your tongue, clean. “Fuuuuuck,” Mingi groaned, full body shuddering. “You’re gonna kill me.” He was still panting when you crawled back into his lap, smug and satisfied.

But not for long. Because the second your hands slid up his chest, still sticky with sweat, he grabbed your hips and flipped you under him in one smooth move, the camera capturing your surprised little gasp as your back hit the sheets. “Thought you were done?” you teased, still breathless, a little cocky.

Mingi leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Never done with you.” Then he sat back, grabbed the backs of your thighs, and pulled you toward the edge of the bed with purpose, placing you exactly where he wanted you. Where the camera could see everything.

He tugged the hem of his shirt up over your waist again, baring your glistening folds, your thighs already sticky and trembling. “Take it off?” you asked, fingers grazing the buttons of the shirt.

He shook his head, lips curved in a devilish smile. “No. Keep it on.” Then he lowered himself between your legs, big hands pushing your thighs apart, kissing up the inside like he had all the time in the world. You were already wet, already aching, but he still took his time. Licking the inside of your thighs. Nipping just close enough to your pussy to make you squirm. Then, finally, his tongue flattened against your slit.

You choked on a gasp, hands flying into his hair as he licked a slow, deep stripe from your entrance to your clit. “Shit, Mingi…”

“Sit on my face,” he growled, voice wrecked and low. “Now.”You didn’t hesitate. You climbed over him, thighs trembling as you settled on his mouth, his hands gripping your ass and holding you exactly where he wanted you, firm and needy. The moment you lowered your hips, his mouth opened, tongue sliding between your folds with filthy enthusiasm.

It was instant. His tongue was hot and relentless, circling your clit with pressure that made your legs shake. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and when your hips jerked forward, trying to grind, he just growled and held you tighter. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your pussy, mouth slick. “Ride it. Use me.”

You did. You rocked your hips, chasing the pressure, thighs tensing as he devoured you. His tongue fucked into you deep, then moved up to flick your clit again, switching between sucking and licking until your moans filled the room, raw and wrecked. Your hands tangled in his hair, using him for leverage. The shirt stuck to your back, sweat gathering between your shoulder blades, your hips moving faster, needier. “Mingi…. fuck, I’m gonna… I can’t…”

He slapped your ass hard, a sting that sent you forward, only for him to drag you back onto his tongue again. “Come for me,” he rasped, mouth wet, nose buried against your clit. “Give it to me. Wanna taste it. Wanna feel it all over my fucking face.”

The pressure broke.

You screamed, thighs locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, sudden and blinding. Your hips jerked once, twice and then it hit. You squirted all over his face, his chin, your thighs soaking with it, your body shaking like you’d lost control of every muscle. Mingi groaned like he was the one coming, holding you down, licking you through it, drinking you in like it was the only thing that could keep him alive. The camera caught everything. The way your body trembled. The shirt bunched around your waist. Mingi’s face soaked, glistening, absolutely destroyed beneath you.

You finally collapsed forward, panting, thighs still twitching and Mingi pulled back just a little, just enough to look up at you from beneath wet lashes, mouth and chin covered in your release and he grinned. “Baby,” he said, voice husky, wrecked, “we’re only halfway through the video.”

Your thighs were still trembling. You’d barely rolled off of Mingi’s face, panting like you’d run a marathon, when he sat up, eyes glazed, face drenched, dick rock hard again. His tongue flicked out across his bottom lip like he could still taste you.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped, voice hoarse from groaning against your pussy. “And now I need to fuck you.” He flipped you again, manhandling you like you. The camera adjusted focus as he dragged you into his lap, this time with purpose. His arms wrapped around your waist, the sticky black shirt still bunched around your ribs, your chest rising and falling fast.

“You riding me now, baby,” he growled against your neck. “Wanna see how good you take me in this fucking shirt.” You guided him in slowly, both of you groaning when the head of his dick slid through your folds and pushed inside. He filled you so deep, and the stretch made you whimper, made your hips stutter before settling.

Mingi leaned back slightly, one arm behind him for support, the other gripping your hip as you began to ride, slow at first, adjusting to the feel, to how big he was, to the way your overstimulated pussy still fluttered around him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, watching you bounce on him. “You look so good like this. Camera’s loving it. I’m loving it. This is going on repeat all tour.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your thighs already aching from how hard he made you come before, but he wouldn’t let you slow down. Not yet. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing your clit just right. “Don’t stop now, baby,” he groaned. “You’re taking me so good… fuck, you were made for me.”

You cried out, hips stuttering again, your orgasm threatening to snap again way too soon. You were a mess, slick, panting, sweat clinging to the collar of his shirt. And Mingi was watching everything. He cupped your face. Kissed you hard. His other hand slapped your ass, just once, before he suddenly stilled. “Turn around for me,” he said, voice wrecked.

You blinked, dazed. “W…. what?” He pulled out slowly, then flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips before you could even register what was happening. “I wanna fuck you like you’re mine.” Because you were. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled your hips back, pressed the tip of his dick to your entrance again, and slammed into you deep.

You cried out, hands gripping the sheets, back arching. But what made you scream? Was when Mingi grabbed the back of the shirt, his shirt, and used it to yank you back into his thrusts. Every slam of his hips made your ass bounce, the sound obscene, skin slapping against skin as he used the shirt like a handle, dragging you into him over and over.

“Look at this,” he growled, eyes flicking to the camera. “My girl… in my shirt… taking me like a fucking champ.” The fabric tugged tighter against your chest with every thrust. You were moaning helplessly, drooling into the pillow, thighs trembling again. “Say it,” he grunted, still pounding into you, still gripping that shirt like reins. “Tell the camera who owns this pussy.”

“You, Mingi…. fuck, you!”

“That’s right,” he snarled, leaning forward to press his chest to your back. “All mine.” You shattered again, the orgasm ripping through you before you could even brace for it. You clenched hard around him, screaming into the mattress, thighs giving out. But Mingi wasn’t done. He sat back on his knees, dragging you up by the shirt, your ass against his thighs, his hand now wrapping around your throat from behind as he kept thrusting, slower now, deeper.

You were a mess beneath him, skin flushed, body trembling, pussy dripping around his dick. And still, still, Mingi hadn’t come. He was holding on by a thread, breath ragged, jaw clenched as he slowed his thrusts down to a grind, hips rolling deep while your body spasmed from the orgasm he just wrung out of you.

“Still with me, baby?” he murmured against your spine, voice thick, taunting. You whimpered a half sob, half laugh. “I… I think so…”

Mingi chuckled, low, cocky, possessive, and sat back on his heels, hands gripping your hips as he slowly pulled out of you. Your slick clung to him in glistening strings. The camera caught all of it. The ruin. The twitch of your thighs. The way your body begged for more even when you couldn’t form the words. “Take this off,” he rasped, tugging at the hem of the shirt still bunched around your ribs.

You tried to lift your arms, weak and shaking so he helped. Dragged it over your head slow as molasses, like it was the last barrier between you and complete surrender. He tossed it aside, eyes drinking you in like he hadn’t just had your pussy in his mouth and his dick inside you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, rubbing a hand down your back, cupping your ass with reverence. “My fucking masterpiece.” He flipped you over gently causing you to gasp as your back hit the sheets, still warm and damp with sweat. Mingi settled between your legs again, one hand stroking your thigh, the other gripping the base of his dick, hard, glistening, aching.

And then he started the pattern. First, he pressed his tip to your clit, just the head, slow, teasing little circles, using your own slick to glide over that sensitive bundle of nerves. You arched, hips twitching, breath caught. “Mingi…” He grinned. “Shh, baby. Just feel.” Then he slid inside, hard, deep, and you cried out, toes curling.

Just when the rhythm started to build, when your legs began to wrap around him, he pulled out. And dove down. His mouth found your pussy instantly, licking up everything he just gave you. His tongue flattened against your clit, sucking it in just once before he growled into you like a man possessed.

Your moan ripped through the room like a sin. Then he was back up, spit and slick smeared across his lips, gripping your thighs and sliding back inside in one swift thrust. Your body bucked. He did it again. Deep thrusts. Pull out. Eat you like a meal. Again. And again.

Your thighs were trembling uncontrollably. Your voice was gone from screaming his name. Your pussy was soaked, overstimulated, clenching for him. The camera caught every second, the obscene slick sounds, the way your body arched when he’d fuck into you, then the contrast of him between your legs, mouth worshipping your cunt like he was starved.

“You like this, baby?” he rasped, voice hoarse as he came up for air, face soaked. “Like me fucking you and tasting you?”

“Y… yes… Mingi, please…”

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, sliding back inside so deep you cried out. “Can’t decide if I wanna come in your pussy or eat it off your thighs.” You were wrecked. Sweat and tears. Hands clawing at the sheets. But Mingi wasn’t done. He leaned in close, body pressed to yours, still rocking into you slow and hard.

“Camera’s still watching,” he whispered against your lips. “Show it what it looks like when you fall apart for me again.”

You didn’t even realize you were begging. Somewhere between the relentless thrusts and the way Mingi’s tongue lapped at your clit like salvation, your voice had given out, reduced to whimpers, gasps, desperate sobs of his name.

He came up from between your thighs, jaw dripping, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. “Come here,” he rasped, voice cracked and full of need. He grabbed you, one hand under your back, the other gripping the back of your thigh, and pulled you upright, holding you against him. His dick nudged your entrance again, and you barely had time to brace before he slid inside.

You choked on your own moan, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively as he stood there, stood there, and started fucking up into you. Hard. Hot. Desperate. “Fuck, baby…. this pussy,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “So fucking tight, still. You gonna come again? Huh? Gonna give it to me while I fuck you like this?”

You could barely nod. He grabbed your ass, bouncing you on his dick like a ragdoll, hips slamming up as your back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream. You came again, clenching hard, crying out as your whole body seized around him.

“That’s it,” he panted, still thrusting through it, even as you writhed in his arms. “That’s my girl. Fuck, you feel so good when you come… squeezing me like you never wanna let go… shit!” Then slowly, gently, he laid you down.

You hit the sheets, boneless. Ruined. But Mingi still wasn’t done. He grabbed your legs, both, and lifted them over his shoulders, folding you in half beneath him. “Ready?” he whispered, kissing the inside of your knee. You nodded, dazed and he slammed back into you. You screamed, overstimulated, ruined, but wanting more.

Your hands flew to the sheets, to the pillow, to your own hair as he fucked you, relentless, animalistic, but still so fucking good. His grip on your thighs tightened. The slap of skin on skin echoed through the room. The camera caught it all, his muscles flexing, your tits bouncing, your face wrecked as you cried out his name over and over again.

“I’m gonna come,” he growled, the edge cracking in his voice. “Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna fuck you so full it leaks out on camera.”

“Do it… please, Mingi… do it”

“Fuck, fuck… baby…I’m coming…” And he did with a growl that turned into a low moan, hips stuttering, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard, twitching inside you, ropes of hot release spilling into your already aching core. You were shaking and so was he as he collapsed over you, still inside, your legs sliding off his shoulders to wrap around his waist, arms locking him in as both of you gasped for air.

The room was silent now, except for the heavy sound of breathing, the soft hum of the camera still rolling, and Mingi’s voice, barely a whisper against your throat. “Best fucking masterpiece I’ve ever made.”

You were sprawled beneath him, sweat drenched, blissed out, legs still twitching from the sheer wreckage of your last orgasm. His cum was already starting to slip out of you in slow, creamy drips. And Mingi, chest still heaving, hadn’t even left you yet.

He stayed there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in. One hand cradled your face, the other stroked your thigh lazily. Your whole body pulsed with aftershocks, and he kissed you once, soft and lingering, before slowly pulling out. You whimpered at the loss. And that’s when you saw it. That look in his eyes. Hungry. Intent. Possessive.

Without a word, Mingi reached to the nightstand and grabbed the camera. Still recording. Still hot with everything you’d just given him. He brought it close, tilting the lens between your legs, your ruined, soaked, still spread body on full display. His cum, warm and thick, was leaking from your swollen pussy in long, slow drips, sliding down your ass and inner thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispered behind the lens, voice ragged. “Look at that. So full of me…” The angle caught it perfectly. Intimate. Raw. Claimed. Then you gasped. Because Mingi set the camera down just beside you, aimed directly at the mess between your thighs, and dipped two fingers into the mix of slick and cum seeping out of you.

You twitched at the contact as he pushed it back in. Slowly. Gently. Intentionally. “You’re mine,” he murmured, watching the way you clenched around his fingers. “Gotta keep it inside. Keep me with you even when I’m gone.”

You moaned, arching, your body exhausted but still so sensitive. He pulled his fingers out once more, slick and glistening, then reached for your face, cupping your cheek with his clean hand. And kissed you. Not rushed. Not filthy. Tender. The kind of kiss that said, this isn’t just about the video. This is you. Me. Always.

He pulled back just an inch, eyes locked on yours. “I’m never deleting this.”

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The Atlanta hotel room was standard, clean, modern, and just cramped enough to make sharing it annoying. Yunho dropped his bag onto the bed closest to the window with a grunt. “Why do we always end up rooming together on the loud stops?” he muttered, pulling his hoodie off. Mingi yawned as he kicked off his sneakers. “Because I snore and you’re the only one who won’t suffocate me with a pillow.”

“Yet.”

Mingi chuckled, already walking toward the bathroom. “Gonna shower. You can use my charger if you want, outlet’s by the desk.” Yunho nodded and waited until he heard the water start running before digging through his backpack, fishing out his laptop and groaning. Dead. Of course.

He turned to Mingi’s laptop, still open and glowing faintly on the desk. Charger already plugged in. Lucky bastard probably forgot to close out some anime or half finished beat. The screen blinked to life. No desktop. No YouTube tab. No lyrics doc. Just full screen video. Paused.

Mingi’s voice filled the speakers immediately, breathy, low, almost wrecked. “Tell the camera who owns this pussy.”

Yunho froze. Eyes wide. Mouse unmoving after accidentally fast forwarding some on the video. He saw you first, laid out across rumpled sheets, drenched in sweat, legs spread wide, your lips parted in a moan. Then Mingi. On his knees behind the camera, voice shaking as he zoomed in on your pussy, where his cum was dripping out of you in real time.

Yunho’s jaw dropped, his stomach doing a slow, guilty somersault. He knew who you were. Knew you were Mingi’s girl. His best friend’s girlfriend. But nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for that image. For the sound of your moan when Mingi pushed his fingers back inside you and you gasped like it hit your soul.

Yunho’s mouth went dry. He didn’t even mean to press play again. It just… happened. The motion restarted. Your hips shifted on screen. Mingi’s voice got closer to the mic. “Gonna miss this pussy on tour… good thing I’ve got you saved, huh?” The sheets rustled. You whispered something Yunho couldn’t quite catch, and then you moaned again. A choked, desperate sound.

Yunho shifted in his seat, blinking fast, not breathing. The shower was still running.

Steam fogged the mirror just behind him. But the room was sweltering now. He reached for the keyboard, either to pause it or rewind it, even he didn’t know when the bathroom door clicked open. And Mingi stepped out, towel low on his hips, steam billowing behind him. He froze. So did Yunho. Their eyes met. Mingi’s narrowed. Yunho blinked. “I was just…”

“You’re watching my girl?” Mingi’s voice was low. Dangerous. Almost unreadable. Yunho swallowed. “No… I mean, yes… I mean… I didn’t know…. you left it open!” Mingi stepped closer, water still dripping from his hair, arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing. “And you didn’t pause it?”

“I… couldn’t,” Yunho said, voice hoarse. “She looked…. you both… it was like… fuck.” Mingi tilted his head. “You liked it?” Yunho didn’t answer right away. He looked back at the screen. Then nodded. Once. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I did.”

Mingi’s eyes darkened. He took another step forward. “Want me to send it to you?”Yunho’s brows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t act shy now,” Mingi said, smirking, voice low and gravelly. “You liked watching her, didn’t you?” Yunho’s throat worked just barely. “She looked unreal.”

“She is,” Mingi said, stepping closer, leaning one hand on the desk beside the laptop. “But you only saw the ending. You didn’t even get to the part where she rode my face. Or when I fucked her so deep she couldn’t talk for a full minute.”Yunho’s breathing got shakier. And Mingi, smiling now, playful but still dangerous, let out a soft laugh. “Guess we’re watching it together now.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

There were worse things he could’ve done. Stealing someone’s charger? Normal. Watching a sex tape he accidentally opened? Gray area. Coming to it five times in three cities? Yeah. That was a problem. And now they were back in Seoul.

Back in the humid summer air. Back to their regular beds, their regular routines and you.

Back to you. Yunho dropped his bag on the hardwood floor of his apartment he shared with Yeosang and let out a slow exhale, bracing his hands on the counter like it could ground him. But it didn’t help.

Because all he could see, all he could fucking see, was the way your body looked in that video. Mingi’s shirt. His cum. Your thighs trembling. That fucked out smile at the end. He’d told Mingi he watched it by accident. That was true. Once. But the second time? The fifth? That was all on him.

He’d copied the file. Password protected it. Learned the lighting cues. Knew the minute mark where you choked out Mingi’s name and said her pussy was his. And worse? He started wondering what it would sound like if you said his name instead.

He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as the shower in the bathroom started, Yeosang running in the second they got there, Yunho trying to shake the image of your mouth wrapping around Mingi’s dick, how eager you looked. Like you loved it. Like you wanted to be filmed doing it.

And Yunho had jerked off more than once to the thought of what you’d look like on his dick instead of. He wasn’t proud of it. But he was obsessed. You hadn’t even changed the way you treated him. Still friendly. Still teasing. Still giving him those lazy smiles that sent his thoughts spiraling. You’d hugged him when they got back. Told him you missed his stupid dance challenges in the green room. Looked up at him with that same warm gaze like you didn’t know.

Like you didn’t know what he’d seen. What he’d done with it. What he wanted. And that’s what scared him most. Because Yunho wasn’t just jerking off to a fantasy anymore. He wanted the real thing. Your breath in his ear. Your nails in his back. Your voice breaking on his name as he split you open.

He wanted to see how different you’d sound moaning for him instead of Mingi. If you’d ride him the same. If you’d let him taste you until you cried. If you’d wear his shirt and beg to keep it on. And worst of all? He knew Mingi wouldn’t stop him. Because Mingi had seen the way Yunho looked at you when he thought no one was watching.

Had smirked when Yunho stammered through a goodbye the last night of tour, cheeks flushed, eyes lingering too long on your picture in Mingi’s lock screen. “Wanna touch her?” he’d said in that low, casual voice. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”

And now, back home, Yunho was wondering if you wanted him to.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The bass vibrated through the floor. Yunho moved on autopilot, counting beats, syncing steps, keeping pace even when his brain was somewhere else entirely. His shirt stuck to his chest, his hair dark with sweat, and he still couldn’t focus. Not fully. Not since Mingi leaned over mid routine to whisper, “She’s bringing lunch, by the way.”

Yunho had nodded. Pretended it didn’t affect him. Pretended he hadn’t been thinking about you all morning. But his stomach had tightened. His body knew before his brain could catch up. He was going to see you. And that meant one very real, very important problem. Yunho couldn’t unsee it.

Couldn’t unhear your moans. Couldn’t forget the way Mingi held your hips as you begged for more. Couldn’t stop remembering the exact moment you came while still wearing that black shirt, legs shaking, cunt dripping. And now you were just… casually showing up. With food. Like you hadn’t wrecked his whole damn sense of control.

“Five minute break,” their choreographer called. Yunho wiped his face with a towel and turned to grab his water bottle and then he heard the door. His whole body tensed. The guys were already calling your name in chorus, excited and loud. Mingi broke from the group first, practically jogging toward the entrance with that dumb happy grin he only ever gave you.

You stepped in, white tank top, denim shorts. Tote bag slung over your shoulder. Food bags in hand. Laughter in your voice as Mingi kissed your cheek and tried to take all the weight from you.

Yunho froze. Just stood there. Staring. This was only the second time he’d seen you since getting back. The first was brief and he avoided eye contact. You looked exactly the same. But he wasn’t. Because now he’d seen you. Now he’d heard you. Now every movement of your body sent heat curling low in his gut.

You glanced up and locked eyes with him. A moment. A flash. Your smile didn’t falter, but your gaze did linger. You gave him that soft, familiar smirk. “Yunho, you seem to be surviving practice.” His throat bobbed. “Y… yeah. Barely.”

You stepped further into the room, and everything about your presence, your scent, your voice, the way the neckline of your tank dipped just made it worse. He turned away fast, pretending to grab his phone, willing his heart rate to slow down. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. And yet, he felt seen. Naked. Exposed.

Mingi plopped down next to him on the floor, handing him a sandwich. “Told you she’d show. She spoils us.” Yunho kept his eyes on the wrapper. “Yeah. She’s great.” Mingi leaned in closer, voice low. Too low. “You watched it again, didn’t you?”

Yunho flinched. Mingi smirked. “I could tell. You looked like you were about to bust the second she walked in.” Yunho clenched his jaw. “Shut up.”

“I’m not judging,” Mingi murmured, unbothered. “Just saying… You might wanna be careful. You keep looking at her like that, she’s gonna notice.”

Yunho didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because just a few feet away, you were laughing with San, unwrapping drinks, your skin glowing from the heat outside, your thighs crossed as you leaned back and looked completely at ease. And Yunho was hard. In the middle of a dance studio.

In front of his friends. Because you’d walked in holding iced coffee.

He barely managed a sip of water, pulse still thumping in his ears when he glanced over and caught your gaze again, this time, tilted slightly, almost curious. And in that moment? Yunho knew. He was fucked.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho hadn’t meant to come by alone.

But Mingi had texted him in all caps, STUCK IN STUDIO. BRINGING CHAOS. NEED U TO GRAB LAPTOP.

And being the helpful, totally normal friend that he was, Yunho grabbed his keys, his hoodie, and did not rehearse anything in the mirror before heading over. He didn’t expect you to be there. Which is exactly why his breath caught when you opened the door.

You were in a matching set, just a thin gray crop tank and soft cotton shorts that clung to your thighs in a way that felt deliberate. Your hair was messy, lips glossy, skin bare and glowing like you hadn’t even tried. “Yunho,” you said, voice light and sweet. “Mingi said you were coming.” He almost choked. Almost turned around.

But you stepped aside, holding the door open, and he had no choice but to walk into the place he’d been dreaming about for weeks. The couch. The hallway. The bedroom door slightly ajar. All of it. Burned into his brain from the video he swore he wouldn’t watch again but absolutely had. Many times. That morning in fact.

You gestured to the kitchen counter. “Laptop’s right there. Want something to drink?”

“Uh… no. I’m good. I’ll just… grab it and go.”

But you didn’t let it be that simple, did you? You leaned back against the counter, sipping from a glass of water, watching him with lazy curiosity as he reached for the laptop. “Hot out today, huh?” you asked, running your fingers along the condensation on your glass.

Yunho didn’t answer immediately. His hands were already shaking. You had to know. And you did. Because Mingi told you. Told you Yunho had seen the video. That he’d watched it. That he’d jerked off to it. Not that Yunho was fully aware of that fact just yet. And now you were watching him unravel under nothing but your smile and the ghost of memory. “You okay?”

Yunho blinked. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

You pushed off the counter, slow and casual, walking over to him until you were standing too close. You smelled like vanilla and body heat and temptation. “You look flushed.” He didn’t respond. Just swallowed hard, eyes dropping, not even meaning to, and landing directly on the slope of your chest, the hem of your crop top lifting slightly as you tilted toward him.

He grabbed the laptop. Tried to hold it to his chest like a shield. “Thanks… I’ll uh…. return this tomorrow.” You stepped closer. “You sure you don’t want a drink?” you asked again, voice soft now. Syrupy. “I could give you… something cold. Or warm, if you prefer that…”

He dropped the laptop. Caught it midair with a flailing, gasped curse and clutched it tighter. Your eyes sparkled. “I…. I gotta go,” he stammered, already backing toward the door. “I’ve got practice, and…. uh…. stuff.”

You just smiled. “Of course,” you said sweetly. “Say hi to Mingi for me.” And just as he turned the knob, hand trembling, hoodie sticking to the back of his neck from the sweat gathering? You added, casual as anything, “Oh, and Yunho?”

He turned, barely keeping his eyes on your face. Your smirk was lethal. “Next time you watch our video…” You licked the condensation off your glass rim, slow, deliberate. “Try not to bite your lip so hard. You might draw blood.”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

He was going to kill Mingi!

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The studio door slammed open so hard it bounced off the stopper. Mingi didn’t even flinch. He was leaning back in the chair, socked feet propped on the edge of the desk, slowly chewing a piece of gum as Yunho stormed in, practically seething.

The laptop slammed onto the desk with enough force to make the water bottle next to it jump. “You told her.” Mingi blinked. “Told who what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yunho snapped, voice low, shaky with everything he was trying not to say. “You told her I watched the video. That I…. fucking came to it, didn’t you?” Mingi stared at him for a long second, then smirked wide. “And did she tease you?” he asked, voice calm, like this was the weather report. “Did she make you squirm a little, maybe show some skin, look at you like she didn’t know, but she did?”

Yunho looked like he might combust. “That’s not the point!”

“It’s exactly the point.” Mingi dropped his feet and stood, circling the desk slowly, looking at his best friend like he was studying a particularly interesting animal on the verge of snapping.

“You know what the best part is?” Mingi said, voice going low, amused. “She didn’t even have to try that hard, did she? Just smiled. Stood too close. Said your name like she was thinking about it. And now you’re in here, losing your goddamn mind.”

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw clenched. His hands fisted at his sides. “You think I didn’t notice?” Mingi went on, stepping closer. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her when she’s laughing? When she leans over in those little tops and you pretend to look away too fast?”

Yunho’s throat worked. “Mingi, I would never…”

“I know,” Mingi interrupted. “That’s the thing. You’d never make a move. You’d never say a word. But you want her.” Silence. Yunho’s fingers twitched. Mingi leaned in. “Do you want to fuck her?”

Yunho’s breath hitched, barely audible as Mingi stepped even closer. “Because you can. But I want to hear you say it.” Yunho looked up, eyes burning, guilt and lust and need all cracking through the calm he’d tried to hold on to.

“You think I don’t hate myself for it?” he said finally, voice quiet, tight. “You think I haven’t tried to stop? I’m your best friend, Mingi.”

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Mingi’s tone was unreadable. “But I’m also not blind. And I’m definitely not threatened.” That stunned Yunho into silence as Mingi leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed now, gaze steady. “She noticed it too, by the way,” he added. “Before I ever said anything. Said you look at her like you’re trying not to fall apart.”

Yunho ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “This is fucked up.”

“Is it?” Mingi asked, smirking again. “Or is it just honest?” A pause of silence and Mingi pushed off the desk and walked up to him, slow, deliberate, until they were chest to chest. “You want to fuck her?” he repeated, voice low and dead serious now. “Then ask yourself the better question…”

Yunho’s breath caught as Mingi’s eyes sharpened. “Do you want to fuck her more than you want to pretend you don’t?”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was quiet when Mingi slipped in, keys jingling low, door clicking shut behind him. It was past midnight. Exhaustion hung from his shoulders like a heavy coat, but beneath it, under the sweat damp shirt and low buzz of leftover adrenaline, was something darker. Something sharper. Desire.

He toed off his sneakers, the soft scuff of rubber against wood the only sound in the apartment until he saw you. You were standing in the living room , barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel. Hair damp, lips still tinted from the heat of your shower, steam trailing from the bathroom behind you like a fog of temptation.

And you smiled. Lazy. Soft. Unknowing. “Hey,” you murmured, voice like velvet. “You’re late.” Mingi didn’t answer right away. He walked toward you slowly, shedding his hoodie, eyes drinking in every inch of your towel covered frame. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip as he reached you. “I saw Yunho today,” he said, voice low. You blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

“He stormed into the studio. Shoved the laptop at me. Asked if I told you he watched the video.” You raised an eyebrow, towel clutched just a little tighter at your chest. “And did you?” Mingi smirked. “Of course I did.” You tried to look innocent. You failed. He reached out, brushed a drop of water from your collarbone, let his fingers linger there.

“He’s losing his mind over you,” Mingi murmured, stepping closer. “You know that, right?” You bit your lip, just barely. “He didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t have to,” Mingi whispered, voice dropping even lower. “He looked at me like he was ashamed… for wanting what’s mine.” Your breath caught. “But he’s not the only one who’s been hiding shit,” Mingi went on, hand slipping to the knot at your towel. “I know you’ve thought about him.”

Your eyes widened as he tugged the knot loose, slow and purposeful. “I see the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching. The way you smile a little different. Hold hugs a second too long.” The towel dropped. Soft. Soundless. Leaving you standing there bare before him, flushed and quiet, heart hammering in your chest.

Mingi’s eyes were molten. “And you know what?” he breathed, stepping so close you could feel the heat of his body. “I don’t blame you.” His hand slid down your side, over your hip, anchoring you in place. “Yunho’s a good man. And he wants you bad. But what he doesn’t know…” He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw. “is how wet you’re already getting just thinking about it.”

You whimpered and then a knock sounded at the front door followed by three more. Both of you froze. You turned your head toward the front door. Mingi didn’t even flinch.

“That’ll be him.”

You rushed to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, towel forgotten on the floor, knees drawn up, chest bare, arms wrapped tight around yourself, but not because you were cold. No. It was because Mingi had just said something you’d only ever whispered in your own head. Saying how he knew you thought of his best friend. And he wasn’t wrong.You had. Too many times. Too late at night. Too long after a hug from Yunho lasted just a second too long. Or when he laughed at something you said like it was the funniest thing in the world. When his hands lingered on your back. When he watched you dance in the kitchen and didn’t say a word.

You felt it. That shift. But you’d ignored it. Buried it. Because you loved Mingi. And Mingi was… everything. But now he was the one who’d said it first. And not in jealousy. Not in anger. But like he understood. Like he might even want it too.

From the other side of the bedroom wall, you heard the soft pad of his bare feet on the hardwood as he walked down the hall. The faint creak of the front door opening. “Hey,” Mingi’s voice. Low. Even. Not surprised. Yunho didn’t respond right away. You held your breath. Mingi let the silence sit. Heavy. Tense. Then he stepped aside. “You gonna stand there all night or are you coming in?”

Another beat of silence followed. Then footsteps. Heavy. Controlled. Intentional. You curled your fingers into the comforter beneath you as you heard the door shut, the lock click. Mingi’s voice, again, closer now. “She probably ran to the bedroom.” Still quiet. No laughter. No sarcasm. Just weight.

You could almost feel Yunho hesitating on the other side of the wall, just feet from the doorway. Like he was trying to catch his breath. Trying to hold onto the last shred of control he had left. You turned, slowly, breath stuck somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

The bedroom door creaked open and Yunho stood in the doorway, backlit by the soft hallway light. Black hoodie. Joggers. Jaw tight. His eyes swept over you in an instant, bare, flushed, wrecked from the conversation before and everything about him shifted. His breath caught. Your name barely made it past his lips. “Fuck.”

You didn’t cover yourself. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. And Yunho? He just stood there. Eyes full of something wild. Something raw. Something that said, I can’t pretend anymore.

Yunho had imagined this moment a hundred times. No, fantasized. Late at night, in silence, in showers, in the back corner of the dance studio while his mind wandered and guilt crawled down his spine. He’d imagined your face twisted in pleasure, your lips wrapped around his dick, your body writhing beneath his touch, but none of it came close to this. Nothing came close to the real thing.

Because now? You were right there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, backlit by the bedside lamp, skin flushed and damp from a recent shower. Naked. Unbothered. Looking at him like you knew every single dirty thought he’d ever had. And you weren’t afraid of it. You welcomed it.

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Mingi walked in behind him, moving like he had all the time in the world. Yunho tensed instinctively, but Mingi only smirked as he walked past, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing Yunho’s arm as he stepped further into the room.

“I was right,” Mingi said, voice low, calm. “You want each other.”

Yunho swallowed hard, but didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Mingi turned to face them both now, standing at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on Yunho first, then you. And his voice softened just slightly. “And that’s okay.” His eyes glittered with something possessive. But not jealous. Not threatened. Just… aware. Deeply, intimately aware.

“You’re my best friend,” he said to Yunho. Then to you, softer, “You’re my girlfriend.” And then, back to both of you. “In a way… you’re both mine.”

Yunho’s breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. Something electric hung in the air, thick and humming. “But tonight?” Mingi continued, walking to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer. Grabbed the GoPro. The same GoPro. The one that changed everything. “I don’t want to be in it.” He turned it over in his hands, checked the battery, powered it on. The red light blinked once, bright and ready. “I want to watch.”

Yunho’s eyes widened. His stomach dropped, then flipped. His dick twitched in his pants. Not just watch. Film. Mingi looked at him, completely serious now, voice lower. “I want to see what you do to her when you finally stop pretending.”

He turned the camera on and set it on the dresser across from the bed, tilting the angle, just like before. The red light blinked again. Recording. Then he backed away, sat in the chair in the corner of the room, legs spread, one arm slung across the back, the other resting lazily on his thigh.

“You want her, Yunho?” he asked, eyes dark. “Then show me.”

Yunho couldn’t move at first. Not when the camera started recording. Not when Mingi sat down, legs wide, the perfect calm storm in the corner. And definitely not when you stood up, completely bare, back straight, eyes locked on him. Your steps were slow. Deliberate. And you didn’t look away.

You didn’t cover yourself. Didn’t ask for reassurance. You just approached, like you were meant to. Like this was always going to happen. And Yunho….. he stopped breathing. Every nerve in his body lit up the moment you reached him. Your hands slid up his chest, fingertips dragging over the fabric of his hoodie, soft and slow, like you were mapping him out for the first time. Or like you’d been imagining it just as long as he had.

“Still with me?” you whispered, voice warm, barely heard over the pounding in his ears. Yunho nodded, but it felt like a lie. Because he wasn’t with you, he was losing his damn mind because of you. Already unraveling and you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

Your hands moved to his waist. Tugged gently at his hoodie. “Off.” He obeyed. Pulled it over his head, hands trembling slightly, the air feeling too cold against his overheated skin. You tossed it aside and pressed your palms flat to his stomach, dragging them up slowly, across the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, around the back of his neck.

And then You kissed him. Soft at first. Gentle. And that’s what broke him. Because he’d imagined this so many times. Had dreamt of what your mouth would feel like, of how you’d taste, how you’d sigh into him and the real thing was infinitely worse. Because now he knew. Knew your lips were warm and sweet. Knew you kissed like you were hungry but patient. Knew your body was pressed against his and Mingi was watching just a few feet away, and you still didn’t stop.

Your fingers found his jaw, your mouth parted slightly, and Yunho let out a quiet, desperate sound. You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Come with me.” Then you took his hand, guiding him toward the bed. Not yanking, not rushing. Leading and Yunho followed. Couldn’t do anything else.

He felt like a man being walked off the edge of a cliff and all he could think was finally. You sat on the edge of the mattress first, legs spreading slightly as you pulled him between them. One hand resting lightly on his chest. The other already tugging at the waistband of his pants.

Yunho was shaking. And behind him, the camera was rolling, Mingi voice was cool and low from the corner. “That’s it. Let me see what you’ve been holding back.”Yunho’s eyes dropped to yours. And you looked up like you were about to ruin him.

You tugged him closer between your legs, fingers playing at the waistband of his joggers, and Yunho could barely stand it. Your touch was gentle, but his skin ached. He was so hard it hurt. Throbbing under the cotton, already leaking, already desperate.

You hooked your thumbs under the waistband and slowly pulled them down. His dick sprang free, heavy, flushed, thick and your breath hitched. Yunho watched your eyes go wide for just a second, the way your lips parted. “Shit,” you whispered. “You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. Yunho heard it loud and clear.

Bigger than Mingi.

And something about that short little silence, about the way your eyes stayed glued to his dick. like you were already imagining it between your lips, between your legs, stretching you open, broke him. The shame was gone. The guilt burned away. All that was left was need.

When you leaned forward, tongue flicking out to taste the tip, slow, teasing, letting his precum sit on your tongue like candy, Yunho’s fingers shot to the back of your head. He groaned, low, dark. “No teasing.” You looked up at him, startled. Then wrecked. Because he was already pushing forward, slow but firm, guiding his dick between your lips with a grip in your hair that had you melting.

“Open,” he growled, voice rasped and barely human. “Wider. You can take it.” Your lips stretched. Jaw aching. But you took it. You fucking took it. Yunho’s head dropped back as he slid into your mouth, the warmth of you swallowing him making his whole body seize. Your tongue flattened, your throat tightened, and when you moaned around him? He snapped.

“Fuck, just like that…” he hissed, then looked down at you, eyes wild, mouth parted. “You want to choke on it? Huh? You want me to ruin your throat while he watches?” You whimpered. His hips rolled forward. Once. Twice. Then he started fucking your face. Not slow. Not shy. Messy. Hungry. Filthy.

His hand was tangled tight in your hair, the other on your jaw, guiding you, holding you open as he thrust deeper, harder into your throat. Spit pooled on your chin. Drooled down your chest. His balls slapped against your fingers when you reached to cup them, and Yunho lost any last shred of hesitation.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned, breath ragged. “On your knees, on camera, drooling for my dick like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life.” Your eyes watered. Your thighs pressed together. You moaned around him again and Yunho almost came right there, but forced himself to stop. He pulled out with a wet pop, a thick string of spit and precum still connecting your mouth to his tip.

And when you gasped for air, mascara smudged, chest heaving? Yunho leaned down and grabbed your face with both hands. “You’re mine tonight. And I’m not stopping until you forget how anyone else ever fucked you.”

From the corner of the room, the soft whir of the camera kept rolling. And Mingi’s voice, low, rough, sounding wrecked, cut in, “Fuck. This is gonna be even better than our video.”

You were trembling when he laid you back. Yunho’s hands were gentle, controlled, but his mind was anything but. His dick was still soaked from your throat, heavy and aching, but all he could focus on now was the way your thighs spread for him without hesitation. Like you already belonged there.

And fuck, maybe you did.

Your chest was rising fast, skin flushed, lips red and wet. You looked up at him like you didn’t know where Yunho had gone, but you liked who was here now. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooked his arms under your thighs and dragged you to the edge until your hips were barely balanced on the mattress.

Yunho exhaled once. Then dove in.

It wasn’t just the shock of Yunho eating you out, it was how he did it. There was no warm up. No testing the waters. Just tongue and lips and purpose. He licked through your folds like a man trying to commit your taste to memory. Groaned into your pussy like it was the first real breath he’d taken all night. When he sucked your clit into his mouth with a slow, obscene pop, your whole body arched.

And when you reached for his hair, Yunho didn’t flinch. He growled. “Keep your hands there,” he said, voice muffled between your thighs, “and keep your legs open for me.”

And fuck, your hips obeyed.

You tasted sweet. Sweeter than he thought. Wetter than he expected. Needy. Your thighs trembled against his shoulders as he flattened his tongue over your clit again, slow and steady, dragging the tip in tight circles. You let out a gasp, head thrown back, hair spilling over the sheets.

Good. But not enough. He pulled back just slightly, one hand slipping between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your slick folds before pressing in and your body jerked. “Still tight,” he whispered, eyes locked on the way you pulsed around him. “You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips grinding into his hand. He curled his fingers, once, twice, and your moan cracked open in the middle. Yunho sucked your clit again, timed it with every stroke of his fingers, until you were begging, nearly chanting, barely coherent. “Yunho…. please… I’m gonna…. fuck…. please!”

He pulled back, fingers still inside you. You let out a broken cry. “No,” he said firmly, licking up your slit one more time without giving you the pressure you needed. “You’re gonna wait.”

You couldn’t believe it. Yunho, sweet, funny Yunho, had you spread open, two fingers fucking into you slow and deep while he denied your orgasm like he’d done it a hundred times before. And it wasn’t just good. It was perfect. You were dripping. Twitching. The denial only making it worse.

And when you cried out again, he added a third finger. Your hands flew to the sheets, gasping like he’d punched the air from your lungs. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and filth. “Mingi’s been holding out on me.” You were ruined. And he loved it.

He fucked you slowly with three fingers now, watching the way your body tensed and fluttered around them. Your moans were broken, high and helpless. “I could make you come right now,” he whispered, dragging his lips along your inner thigh, “but I don’t want you coming on my fingers.”

He kissed your clit once, barely, and pulled his hand back completely and your whole body shook in protest. “Yunho…”

“You’re gonna come,” he said, standing now, looking down at you, dick hard and gleaming between you, “when I fuck you.” And from the chair in the corner, Mingi’s voice, low, breathless, completely wrecked already. “She’s ready.”

Yunho stood at the edge of the bed, bare now, every inch of him carved and hungry, dick standing thick and flushed between his abs and the shadow of his thighs. He was beautiful in the worst way, like a ruin you wanted to crawl into. All that soft, dimpled warmth he usually carried was gone. What remained was a man stripped down to nothing but want.

And all of it? For you. He moved in without a word, climbing onto the mattress and settling between your legs, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to your knee, your inner thigh, then your stomach. You gasped, arching into him as his hands slid up your sides, large and grounding, holding you like something he’d been aching to have in his grasp for years.

When he reached your chest, he didn’t hesitate. He licked, sucked, bit, gently, until you were breathless again, your fingers threading through his hair. But he wasn’t done. Without warning, Yunho grabbed you by the hips and flipped you with effortless strength, your body landing against the pillows, and him right behind you, back now propped against the headboard, dick glistening between them.

He pulled you into his lap, back to chest, his thick thighs caging you in, his hands everywhere. One slid up to your throat. The other spread your legs wide, leaving you completely open, completely vulnerable, and seated perfectly against the length of his dick.

Yunho’s mouth was right by your ear now, voice low and electric. “Right here,” he whispered, dragging the head of his dick between your folds, smearing your slick up and down. “This is where I want you.” And then his eyes flicked up, across the room. To Mingi. Still in the chair. Still watching.

Yunho smirked. “Pick up the camera.” Mingi didn’t move for a moment, stunned, maybe, or just aroused past speech. But then his hand twitched. He stood slowly, chest rising and falling, and walked across the room, the red light blinking steadily as he lifted the camera into both hands.

Yunho adjusted his grip on your thighs, spreading them just a little further as his dick slid through the dripping mess between your legs. “Make sure you get everything,” he said, staring straight into the lens. “She’s not yours tonight.” His voice dipped, full of power and possession and something dangerously intimate. “She’s mine.”

Yunho’s arms locked around you, one gripping your thigh, the other spread across your waist, hand splayed wide beneath your ribs. You were flushed, panting, legs spread across his lap, slick soaking his dick as he ran it through your folds again… and again… and again. Not entering. Not yet. Just teasing. Tormenting.

The head of his cock tapped your clit, made your hips twitch, made your hands grip his thighs beneath you and still, he didn’t give it to you.

From the other side of the room, Mingi shifted the camera, silent, focused, adjusting the angle to frame you both perfectly. The lens caught everything, the twitch of legs, the tension in Yunho’s arms, the heavy weight of his dick dragging between your folds, leaving trails of slick behind.

“You hear that?” Yunho murmured in your ear, voice low and feral. The slick, wet sound of your pussy against his dick was obscene. You whimpered, barely able to nod. Yunho’s hand left your waist and slid down, between your thighs, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit while his dick kept sliding just below.

You gasped, loud. And Yunho smirked. “Look at her,” he said to the camera, pressing harder, watching your body twitch. “Already coming apart. And I haven’t even fucked her yet.” Mingi groaned behind the lens as you tried to grind down, tried to take him, your hips rolling forward, chasing his dick, but Yunho grabbed your waist again and held you still. “No.”

You whimpered, growing impatient. “Yunho…”

“You come when I say,” he breathed into your ear. “Not a second before.” He tapped your clit once more, twice, fingers fast and light, sending you straight into a high pitched gasp. Your back arched. Your body trembled. He shifted his hips. Lined up. And pushed in.

Slow. So fucking slow.

“Holy fuck,” he growled as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him like he was made for you. Your hands flew to his thighs. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your mouth dropped open around a soundless moan. “Eyes open, baby,” Yunho whispered against your neck. “Look at the camera. Let him see how you look when someone else stretches you.”

Mingi cursed behind the camera, low, breathless as you did as you were told. Head turned just enough, eyes fluttering open, barely holding on as Yunho filled you to the hilt and held you there, deep, unmoving. “Ride me,” he ordered, one hand sliding up to grip your throat, not tight, just firm enough to control. “Nice and slow. Let him see every inch.”

You began to move. Rocking forward. Lifting your hips. Letting his dick drag out of you slowly, then sinking back down again. Your ass met his thighs with a wet slap, and Yunho groaned, hands gripping tight as he guided your pace. “That’s it,” he hissed. “Take it. Take every fucking inch, just like that.”

The camera zoomed closer, capturing the slick shine coating his dick and the white ring of milky cream as you rode him, capturing the tremble in your thighs, the glazed look in your eyes.

Yunho tilted his head, watching you. Watching Mingi watch you. “She’s never coming back from this.”

You were trembling, but you weren’t stopping. Your palms were planted on Yunho’s thighs, fingers digging into the hard muscle, using his body as your anchor. And Yunho, god, Yunho was gone. Jaw clenched, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met, his hands gripping your hips like he didn’t know whether to let you keep going or flip you and lose control entirely.

You were moving like you wanted to own him. Not just up and down, but left, right, forward, back. Grinding slow, rolling your hips, then sinking all the way down and rocking against his base like you needed every inch deep. Wet sounds filled the room. Your thighs were coated. His dick glistened. Every movement you made was a symphony of slick and want.

And behind the camera? Mingi’s voice broke through, low, rough, wrecked. “That’s right, baby,” he breathed, completely focused on the frame. “Take it. Let him feel all of you.” You whimpered, your head tipping back slightly, mouth open, hips stuttering from the stimulation. You heard him. You were performing for him now. But your body? Your body was riding for yourself.

“Fuck,” Yunho groaned, his voice strained. “You feel so….tight… you’re gonna make me come if you keep moving like that.” But you didn’t stop. You sped up.Yunho’s thighs tensed beneath you as you rode him harder now, fucking yourself onto his dick, ass slapping down with every thrust, hands slipping slightly on his sweat slicked skin.

“Look at that,” Mingi murmured behind the lens. “Look at the way she grinds on you like she’s been dreaming about it.” Yunho had dreamed about it. Every fucking night since he saw the video. And now you were here, real, soaked, spread wide in his lap, working him like he belonged to you.

“Keep going, baby,” Mingi coached, voice hoarse. “He’s close. I can see it in his face.”Yunho groaned again, his hands grabbing your hips tighter. But then you looked at him, eyes wild, face flushed, hair clinging to your neck. “Tell me,” you whispered breathlessly. “Tell me whose it is”

Yunho’s head dropped to her shoulder, his voice torn from somewhere primal. “It’s yours. Fuck…. it’s always been yours!” You were close. Your body betrayed you, hips rolling, breath ragged, thighs clenching around Yunho’s waist as you bounced back on his dick, chasing another orgasm like you were made for it.

But Yunho? Yunho had other plans. He grunted, low, sharp and lifted you off him, your slick dripping down the length of his dick as he laid your back on the sheets, flipping you like a man with a mission. You gasped as your spine hit the mattress, your legs instinctively spreading for him, needy, trembling. “Yunho…”

“Shhh,” he rasped, leaning over you, guiding one of your legs around his waist, the other hoisted high over his shoulder. “Let me.” His dick still flushed, leaking, aching, pressed right against your clit. Not inside. Not yet. He began to rub. Slow. Hard. Deliberate. The thick head of his dick slid through your folds, dragging over your clit again and again, sending sparks up your spine with each pass. Your hands flew to the sheets, to his arms, to anywhere you could grab, because your body was coming undone.

“That’s it,” Yunho murmured, staring down at your wrecked expression. “That’s what I want. Come for me like this.” And you did. You cried out, your whole body jolting as your clit throbbed against his dick, heat washing through you like lightning. But Yunho didn’t stop. While you were still shaking, still gasping from the release, his hand slid between you, two fingers plunging deep into you.

“Yunho!”

He fucked into you hard, fast, curling deep, pumping you open as you writhed beneath him. Your orgasm was still happening and already he was dragging you toward another. “Look at her,” he growled toward Mingi, who was silent behind the camera now, breath unsteady. “Look at how she falls apart for me.”

He added a third finger. Curled them up into that spot that made you scream. Your back arched clean off the bed as you squirted. It hit his hand. His arm. His chest. Soaking the sheets beneath you in wave after wave as Yunho kept thrusting through it, riding out your high like a storm he didn’t want to end.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, utterly wrecked. “Give it to me, fucking soak me, baby.” He dropped his mouth to your pussy. No hesitation. Just tongue and lips and filthy desperation as he licked you clean, licked you through the mess, through your twitching thighs, through the overstimulation that made you scream and sob and grab at his hair like you couldn’t survive one more second.

But he didn’t stop. He ate you like it was his job. Like he hadn’t been fed in weeks. And when your legs finally gave out, trembling and slick, your body wrung out beneath him, Yunho sat up, glowing, glistening, panting. “You’re still not done.”

Yunho pulled himself from her soaked pussy slowly, just for a second, only to guide himself right back in. This time, he didn’t rush. He sank in deep. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, trembling as they locked behind his back, pulling him in like you never wanted him to leave. And Yunho, sweaty, panting, raw with need, bent forward and caught your wrists in his hands.

You reached up for him. And he gave them. Your fingers interlocked. Bodies locked. Breath tangled. He started moving again, deep, slow thrusts, dragging his dick against every inch inside you that made you shake.

Behind you, the camera kept rolling. And Mingi? He was right there. Framing the moment. Breathing heavily. His hands steady even as his restraint frayed. Yunho didn’t take his eyes off you. “Get that shot,” he said to Mingi, voice guttural. “She’s creaming all over me.”

And, oh, you were. Every thrust left a mess between you, slick dripping from you to the sheets, his dick glistening with it every time he pulled back only to press back in, harder, deeper. Yunho’s hand left yours and slid up your body and wrapped it around your throat. Firm. Possessive. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who had you now.

“Don’t come yet,” he growled, his hips starting to piston harder now. “Not until I do. You hold it, baby. You hold it for me.” Your whimper cracked in your throat. Your legs tightened. Your hands dug into his. He fucked into you faster, still deep, still relentless, chest pressing into yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room now. The bed shifted beneath you, the air thick with sweat and want and claiming.

“Yunho…. please…. please….” You sobbed.

“Not yet.” His thrusts stuttered. Once. Twice.

Then he buried himself deep with a groan that vibrated down your spine. “Now,” he breathed. “Come with me.”

And you shattered. Your pussy clamped down around him, pulling him in deeper as your orgasm tore through you. And Yunho, eyes shut, jaw clenched, came with you, groaning low as he emptied inside, filling you full with every last desperate pulse.

They clung to each other, bodies slick and trembling, both wrecked, both gasping.

Yunho didn’t pull out right away. He pressed his forehead to yours, hand still around your throat, still holding you in place like he couldn’t let go yet.

Until, slowly, he eased out. A flood of his cum followed. Dripping from between your thighs, down to the sheets, thick and messy. And Mingi?

Still holding the camera, breath shaky, eyes locked on the mess he’d just watched happen.

He stepped forward. With one hand still filming, he reached out with the other. Two fingers. He slid them between your folds, gathering up the creamy mixture of both your orgasm and Yunho’s seed, swiping through the mess until you twitched from overstimulation.

Then, without a word, he pushed it back into you. Deep. Just like he had done to you in the original video. You gasped. And then, he brought his fingers to your mouth. Still glistening. Still warm. “Open,” he said softly. You did. Lips parting, tongue out, your eyes fluttering shut as you took his fingers in slowly, licked them clean.

Mingi groaned. Yunho watched, barely breathing. And the camera blinked red. Still rolling. Still catching every second of the filthiest masterpiece they’d ever made.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The lights were low in the studio. Mingi sat front and center, laptop open, cables everywhere, bouncing his leg like a kid on too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Hongjoong leaned forward, one arm on the table, nodding to the beat as the track started.

The others lounged in various states of distraction. San on the floor. Wooyoung texting. Jongho half asleep with his hood up. Yeosang squinting at lyrics like they might personally insult him. Seonghwa scrolling on his phone.

And Yunho? Yunho sat there trying not to combust. Because the track Mingi queued up was titled, Masterpiece_Demo_v3.wav.

And Yunho already knew what it was about. He’d helped write it. Not with a pen. With his body. With your moans.

He swallowed hard, jaw tight, heart thudding in his chest. The beat dropped. Heavy bass. Sultry synth. R&B. That slow, low hum that sounded exactly like the pace Yunho had set while fucking you against the living room mirror.

And then came the chorus: “Paint it, paint it, left, right, up and down

Come write your name for me (Name for me)

Make it a masterpiece, yeah (Woah)”

Yunho’s face went hot. Hongjoong bobbed his head. “This is fire.”

“Oh, we know,” Mingi said, grinning. Yunho side eyed him. Mingi caught it. And winked as the outro started.

“Left to right, move it up and down (Oh)

We can take all night, move it 'round and 'round

From left to right, move it up and down (Oh)

We can take all night, move it 'round and 'round, woah”

San blinked. “Damn. This is kinda… sensual?” Wooyoung made a face. “Kind of? This is sex with a beat drop.”

“I like it,” Yeosang murmured. “It’s mature. Dark. Emotional. But also very…” He paused and Seonghwa finished for him. “Detailed.”

Yunho was trying not to move. Trying not to remember the way you had looked the night before, when Mingi had whispered, “Cream on him, baby.” And Yunho had groaned, into your throat.

They hadn’t stopped since that first night. It wasn’t a one time thing. Somehow, in the weeks that followed, Yunho had gone from guest star to permanent cast member, sleeping in your bed, taking turns eating you out while Mingi held your hands, fucking you with the camera on and off, loving you both with terrifying intensity.

And now the entire group was about to sing a song about your sex life. Their sex life. Yunho couldn’t breathe as Mingi leaned over and whispered. “Think they’ll guess it’s your moan I sampled in the second chorus?”

Yunho shot him a look so sharp, it could’ve sliced tape. Mingi just grinned wider. “Relax,” he added, tapping his foot to the beat. “You’re our best kept secret.” And the hook hit. Low. Dirty. Full of rhythm and hunger and exactly the pace Mingi had filmed that night, your body bouncing in Yunho’s.

The studio speakers thumped. Hongjoong turned to Mingi, nodding slow. “This the title track?” Mingi smiled, all teeth.

“It better be.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young

[andy-15-07]

May I ask for some mechanic Joel, old Joel, grumpy, pervert Joel haha, reader is trying to change a tire in the middle of the road, her skirt is so short that she is showing her bare pussy, no panties, and then Joel sees her and he doesn’t even hide his desire, maybe some rough sex, spanks, pussy spanks, pet names, Joel has a tummy, big age gap. Thank you

That Ain’t No Way To Ask for Help, Sweetheart

PAIRING:Mechanic!Joel Miller x Younger!Reader 

WORD COUNT: 1213 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Your hands were greasy, your nails chipped, and your patience was hanging by a single frayed thread. You didn’t know what possessed you to wear a skirt this short on a day you’d be driving on a dusty back road out of town , but here you were, crouched over your rear tire, sweat beading on your thighs, lips pursed in frustration. The damn tire iron wouldn’t budge.

And you were alone. Or… you thought you were.

The low purr of a truck engine came up behind you, slow and growling. You didn’t bother to turn , not until it stopped right beside you, and the creak of an old door opened behind the roar of cicadas and your annoyed breathing.

Then: a whistle.

Low. Appreciative. Dirty.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

You turned and met the eyes of a man leaning one hand on the truck door , tan skin, salt-and-pepper curls under a worn cap, lines carved into his face like he’d seen more than one war. He looked at you like he just walked in on a free show. His gaze went straight to your thighs.

Your heart skipped.

Joel Miller. The mechanic from down by the auto yard. You’d seen him a couple times , always covered in oil and sweat, thick hands and a grumble for a voice. Easily old enough to be your dad. Or… older.

“I-I got it,” you stammered, reaching for the iron again.

He didn’t answer. Just rounded the hood of his truck and came to crouch beside you, thick arms resting on his knees.

“Not wearin’ nothin’ under that pretty skirt, huh?” he asked, eyes glued to the spot between your thighs. “Jesus Christ, girl.”

Your breath hitched. You should’ve squeezed your legs shut , but you didn’t. Some twisted part of you liked how he looked at you. Like he could devour you whole.

“Didn’t think I’d be on my knees today,” you muttered.

Joel chuckled low, voice like smoke and whiskey. “Then you sure dressed for attention.”

You felt your skin heat. But you didn’t move.

“Flat tire?” he asked, glancing at the useless jack.

“Yeah. I tried. Can’t get the bolts off.”

Joel stood up with a grunt, his belly shifting under his stained t-shirt. He pulled a rag from his pocket, wiped his hands , and tossed it back with a nod toward your car.

“Get in the truck.”

“What?”

He licked his thumb, wiped a smear of grease from your cheek.

“You heard me. You look like you need a real man’s help.” Then, with a smirk, “And I ain’t changin’ no tire ‘til you’re sittin’ pretty for me, sweetheart.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

You slipped into the passenger side of his truck. The seat was hot from the sun, the interior smelled like sweat, gasoline, and pine. Joel’s scent. He climbed in beside you after a moment, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“So what is this?” you asked, crossing your legs slowly, teasing. “You get off on rescuing dumb girls by the highway?”

He laughed once. “Not dumb. Just naughty.”

He reached over. One large, calloused hand ran up your thigh, rough from years of work. His palm was hot, greedy.

“No panties?” he asked again. “Walked outta the house wantin’ someone to see, didn’t ya?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe.”

Joel exhaled through his nose , like you’d tested the last of his patience.

His hand shot up and cupped your bare pussy, rough fingers dragging through your folds. You gasped, hips lifting.

“Slick already. You like bein’ caught like this, huh?” He leaned in, voice thick. “You’re just a needy little slut.”

You whined when he slapped it , not too hard, but enough to make your skin sting and your legs jerk.

“Ah, Joel.”

“‘Sir.’ That’s what you call me.”

You swallowed. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He did it again. A sharp slap right across your pussy lips. You twitched.

“Good girl.”

Joel leaned in, tongue licking a stripe up your neck. “Bet no boy your age knows how to treat a brat like you.”

You shook your head. He was right.

Joel yanked you across the bench seat. His belly pressed against your hip as he pulled your legs over his lap, his thick jeans rubbing your sensitive skin. He looked massive up close , broad arms, hands like leather, thick thighs, and a soft stomach that jiggled when he moved.

He hiked your skirt higher. You were already soaked.

“Need it rough, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Need an old man to knock the brat outta you.”

You didn’t answer. So he spanked your pussy again. Harder.

“Y-Yes!”

“Yeah you do.”

He pushed two fingers inside you , no warning, no teasing , and you cried out as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight. This little cunt’s fuckin’ beggin’.”

His fingers curled just right, knuckles grinding your clit. You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his shirt. The soft curve of his belly rocked against your leg with each thrust.

Joel kissed your jaw, then bit your earlobe.

“You gonna come just from my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically.

He laughed darkly, pulling out.

“Too bad.”

You whined at the loss.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Face down. Ass up on the seat.”

You obeyed.

The truck door slammed open for air as Joel dropped his jeans , and you barely caught a glimpse of his thick cock before he was pushing the head right between your folds.

“Gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll forget what a jack looks like.”

And then he was inside , one long, slow thrust that had you arching, your hands scrambling against the vinyl seat for grip.

Joel groaned like a man starved. “Jesus Christ, this pussy.”

He set a brutal rhythm, thick hips slapping against your ass. Each thrust shoved you forward into the seat, making you whimper with every slap of skin. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Who do you belong to now, baby?”

“You, sir!”

He spanked your ass , then your pussy again , then grabbed your hips tight enough to bruise.

“That’s right. Just an old man’s fucktoy now, huh?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely think. The only thing that existed was his cock stretching you wide, the smack of his belly against your skin, and the heat building between your legs.

Joel grunted, pulling you flush against him.

“Come on this cock, baby. Let daddy feel it.”

You came with a scream , clenching around him, shaking, drooling onto the seat. Joel didn’t stop. He chased his own release with ruthless strokes.

“Fuck. Gonna fill this little pussy,” he growled.

He spilled inside you with a groan, thick spurts of cum painting your walls. You moaned as the heat spread inside.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Joel smacked your ass gently.

“Still think you don’t need help, darlin’?”

You giggled, voice wrecked. “Guess I should break down more often.”

Joel zipped up, smirked, and climbed out of the truck.

“Gimme five minutes. Tire’ll be fixed. And then I’m takin’ you home.”

“Why?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“So I can fuck you again. On somethin’ softer than a truck seat.”

[straykidsnerd255]

Omg hiii!!! I’m loving what Saja boys hcs and I loved the pop mart hc u wrote!! (*^▽^*)

What would the saja babes be with an alt/goth gn!s/o? Their demon performance literally sparked this request (0///0)

Oh stop, you are too kind. Thank you so much! And thank you for sending in this request! I hope that you enjoy<3 Had to listen to Your Idol on repeat and don’t regret it. They can have my soul. I’m sure if I wore the goth reader all that well but I hope it's still good! 

Jinu:

Jinu is a sucker for your gothic style. Considering he is a demon, black and deep purple are his colors. 

Seeing you wear those very same colors made both his human side and demon side preen with happiness

Jinu had appeared as his demon one night in your shared apartment and you saw him, in the middle of putting your make-up on. 

You both had a seriously long talk that night

You didn’t understand why he would hide his demon side from you but the fear that filled him when he told you that he believed you would leave him made your heart break. 

You took his hand in yours and pressed it to your chest, just over your heart. 

“You are the only one that makes my heart race like I’m wearing pastel colors and flowers in my hair. Just like when you performed Soda Pop.” You giggled as the tips of his ears turned red.

When you and Jinu went on dates, he wore the pastel colors, you wore the black, a 180 to his demon persona. 

You designed your nails after his actual claws and Jinu could feel his heart racing like he had been running a marathon.

Scratch his head when the both of you are lazing around. Specifically in his demon form because he will purr. 

His demon will practically beg for back scratches when the two of you are lounging in the dorm room watching tv.

His demon form will clasp your hands together and hold them tightly when he feels overwhelmed. 

You show off all your black clothing and make-up on different nights when he is feeling down, hoping that will cheer him up. (It does. He’s a sucker for you.)

Abby Saja:

He is all about the bright colors. He is constantly wearing the bright blues and greens and pinks while you wear only black. You did occasionally wear a dark red whether it be contacts or a belt to hold your pants up. 

You fell for Abby Saja at a concert and when he saw you, he fell harder. Literally, he fell off the stage and landed at your feet, dust slowly settling as he rubbed his head and took your offered hand, worry in your eyes. 

From that moment, he knew he needed you by his side. He asked the security to take you back to their waiting room so he could talk to you and possibly get your name. 

Dating a demon for 3 years is still pretty new to you but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Abby Saja always asks for head rubs when he comes back from a rather long concert or a long tour that has finally ended. 

Even in his demon form, he is gentle when he holds you. He refuses to hurt the person that actually likes his demon and will ask him to show his demon randomly. 

The moment he stepped into the apartment, he saw you sitting on the couch in one of his black t-shirts and black basketball shorts. His demon appeared and he dramatically fell onto your lap. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your stomach as he closed his eyes and breathed in your scent.

“Long day?” You asked, immediately removing the black hat and running your fingers through his hair, occasionally screeching at his scalp. 

He shivered but nodded his head. “The longest day I have ever had. Please don’t make me go back and do it again.” He would whisper but you knew he loved it more than anything.

Mystery Saja:

He loves your goth style. He even asked you if you would be willing to dress him up the same way, his demon getting excited to try it out. 

Mystery had been getting ready for a concert when he saw you putting the make-up on, your eyes trained on the lines you were making on your eyes. 

He stopped, jaw dropped as he watched you. 

“You should apply as our makeup artist. You are talented with that.” He said, walking into the bathroom and stood behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he watched you. 

You giggled and finished the last of the make up before turning around and wrapping your arms around his waist and laying the side of your face against his stomach. 

“Gotta make myself look good for my boyfriend's concert. Where would the fun be if I didn’t show up in the colors that matched your demon side?” You asked, watching as his human form slipped away and his demon form appeared. 

You left an hour after he had left, knowing that was when you would be let into the stadium.

You watched him and his group with a soft smile, your heart pounding as he danced his heart out. 

When he caught sight of you, you smiled and waved watching as his whole face lit up.

The second the concert was over, you made your way to their dressing room but before you could even open the door, Mystery opened the door and pulled you into his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You were amazing, my love.” You whispered.

Romance Saja:

Even in his demon form, he refused to take your soul. The way you looked dressed in all black, chains falling around your hip and the black makeup around your eyes made him feel fuzzy. 

Romance will flirt with you non stop when you are getting your clothes on and makeup on.

When they were on stage in their demon forms, Romance refused to use his voice to control you. He watched you from the stage as you jumped up and down, ignoring the other fans around you. 

His chest swelled with pride as you danced along to the song. 

When the two of you are out shopping for new clothes to add to your closest, he does his best to learn the gothic style and does his best when it comes to choosing something you want. 

At one point, Romance asked if you would be willing to put the same eye makeup on him and you, in a giddy excitement, immediately sat him on the chair in the bathroom as you got to work.

When you two were getting ready for a date, Romance dressed in more lighter reds and pinks, pulling his hair back into a half bun to keep it out of his face while you pulled on a oversized black t-shirt, slipped into black cargo pants, clipping a few chains on the right side, and pulled on socks and combat boots.

Romance wrapped his arms around your neck as you applied the last of your makeup, his eyes shining when you turned to face him.

He will also sit and paint your nails black while he talks to you about his demon side, giving you all the details and such about it before pink smoke surrounds him and his demon is sitting in front of you. 

You can only stare at him mesmerized as he finishes painting your nails. Yes you have seen the demon before but from a distance. Having him in his demon form in front of you makes your heart thud against your chest like it has never done before. 

You are also taller than Romance, and built a little more than him so Romance has a thing for you standing behind him when fans are talking to him. 

Romance, when he is tired and you don’t have your full outfit on, will lay on your chest and sleep.

Romance will actively show you off in his instagram posts, holding your hand or pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

Baby Saja:

Baby Saja will walk around you, studding the clothing that you decided to wear on your date. 

His hands would graze the chain that sat on your hip, trace over the chain around your neck before taking you hand in his, looking up at you and smiling softly. 

He will never admit it but the way you dress in all dark clothes makes him happy. His demon likes the darker colors. It's easier on his eyes.

When he performed Your Idol, he could see you copying all his moves, mouthing all his words all while staring directly at him. 

You are slightly stronger than him when in human form so he will ask you for piggyback rides, mainly so he can nuzzle into your neck better. 

When he comes home after having to act like a popstar, he just collapses into your chest, while you are laying on the couch, scrolling through your phone. 

His demon appears as he rests his chin against your chest, silently begging for your attention. 

When you finally look at him, he blushes and buries his face in your chest, making you chuckle and wrap your arms around him.

He will insist on doing your makeup when you don’t feel like doing it yourself, carefully do your hair in a half bun leaving half your shoulder length hair down so he can play with it. 

Because of your gothic style, he will beg the rest of the group to let you be their manager, knowing that you have seen their demons and don’t care one bit. 

Your black nails are just long enough that he will ask you to scratch at his head when he is extremely tired and will actually fall asleep against your chest when you do so.

[yuujispunches]

The things he doesn’t say ~ M.F.

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

Summary: Megumi doesn’t know how to deal with having a crush and his strategy of deny deny deny might just cost him everything he longs for when you overhear him talking with Yuki and Nobara.

CW (content warning): maybe some cursing but that’s it, this is mainly just fluff.

AN: I’m back! I finally finished my exams and I’m free so I’m back to writing. I’ll be going through the requests as soon as I can 🤍 English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The late spring air buzzed with the hum of insects and the smell of sun-warmed concrete as training wrapped for the day. A warm breeze danced across the open field behind Tokyo Jujutsu High, rustling the sleeves of uniforms and the grass that sprouted between cracks in the stone tiles.

Megumi Fushiguro stood with his arms crossed, gaze locked across the yard.

You were training with Yuji, your laughter ringing out as you clumsily dodged one of his exaggerated mock punches. There was a smear of dirt across your cheek, sweat shining on your forehead, and your smile. God, your smile, every time he saw it, it was as if it caught the sunlight like a net.

Megumi couldn’t look away. Not that he wanted to stare. But it was like his eyes had a mind of their own like his heart was some stupid, traitorous thing that leaned toward you every time you got within ten feet of him. He didn’t even like most people. But you? You made him feel… soft. Stupid. A little terrified.

“Okay.” Nobara said behind him, voice sing-songy. “You’ve been watching her for like, ten minutes straight.”

Megumi frowned. “No, I haven’t.”

Yuji snorted, having appeared beside him at some point. “Bro, yes, you have. It’s getting creepy.”

“I was making sure she didn’t overdo it.” He shifted uncomfortably. “She sprained her wrist last week.”

“Aw, so you’re able to care about someone?” Nobara teased. “That’s cute.”

“It’s not- ” Megumi's tone sharpened. “I don’t have a thing for her, okay? Drop it.”

——————————————————————————

You had just stepped around the back of the toolshed to get a drink from the water tap, coming back toward the group when the words hit your ears.

"I don’t have a thing for her, okay? Drop it."

You froze.

Your heart stumbled in your chest, awkward and loud. You stayed back, hidden by the shed’s corner, not even daring to breathe.

“She’s just a classmate.” Megumi continued, his voice clipped and cold. “There’s nothing going on. You guys are imagining things.”

The air between them seemed to shift. Nobara muttered, “Wow. Harsh.”

Yuji laughed nervously. “Y/N’s cool, though. I mean, I’d get it if you did like her.”

“I don’t.” Megumi said again. And this time, it was more than just annoyed. It was sharp. Final. “She’s annoying sometimes, honestly. Always asking questions, always smiling like we’re not about to die on a mission. I don’t get it.”

You didn’t hear the rest.

Your hands had gone cold, water bottle clutched tight to keep them from shaking. The back of your throat burned as you slowly backed away, heart hammering.

“She’s annoying sometimes, honestly… I don’t get it.”

His words kept echoing in your head. It felt like someone had slapped you, hard.

——————————————————————————

That night, you didn’t come to dinner.

You weren’t mad, exactly. You didn’t think Megumi meant to hurt you, he probably thought he was protecting something, like he always did. That didn’t stop it from stinging like hell.

You sat in your dorm room, fingers curled loosely around a hot mug of tea you didn’t feel like drinking. Your phone buzzed a few times. Yuji, probably. Or Nobara. You ignored them all.

Across the courtyard, Megumi sat outside on the steps of the dorm, arms resting on his knees, gaze distant. Something felt off. You weren’t you tonight. You hadn’t looked at him once after training. Usually, you’d nudge him with your shoulder, say something quietly, something that made the tension in his chest ease.

Tonight, nothing.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Or maybe he did. Maybe he’d just spent so long pretending it didn’t matter that he forgot how much it did.

——————————————————————————

The first time he noticed you was on a mission.

You weren’t like Nobara, loud and stylish and sharp-edged. You weren’t like Yuji, either, overwhelmingly bright, brimming with impossible optimism. You were quieter, not in a shy way but in a present way. Focused. Observant. You asked questions no one else asked. You noticed things.

During the mission, you’d pulled a cursed spirit off his blind spot without hesitation, taken a shallow gash to the ribs for it. Megumi remembered the way your hands shook, the blood blooming through your uniform and still, the only thing you said shocked him.

“I’m fine. You okay?” A concerned look on your face.

He’d looked at you like you were a different species.

Since then, something had shifted. And it scared the hell out of him.

——————————————————————————

The next day came with clouds heavy in the sky, the promise of rain clinging to the air.

You avoided him.

Not in an obvious way, there were still group training sessions, still shared missions but the warmth was gone. No small talk. No soft, thoughtful comments that made him feel seen. No casual touches or gentle teasing.

Megumi noticed.

It ate at him in quiet moments. During breaks, he’d glance over to find you talking with Yuji, laughing but never looking at him. When Nobara dragged you into town for shopping, you didn’t ask if he wanted to come.

And worst of all you’d stopped smiling at him.

One afternoon, he caught you in the courtyard alone, bandaging a scrape on your arm after training.

“You should disinfect that better.” He said, stepping up without thinking.

You looked up, then back down. “I’m fine.”

He hesitated. “You haven’t been talking to me.”

“I didn’t realize we talked much anyway.” You replied, tone even. Not cruel. Just… distant.

Megumi flinched inwardly. “Did I do something?”

You finally met his gaze. There was no accusation in your eyes just quiet resignation. “No. Not really. I just don’t want to bother you.”

That landed like a punch to the ribs.

He sat down beside you, legs crossed, staring at the grass. “You don’t bother me.”

“You said I was annoying.”

Silence.

You didn’t say where you’d heard it. You didn’t have to.

Megumi stared straight ahead. “That wasn’t… what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” You asked quietly, not looking at him. “Because I was starting to think we were friends. But maybe I read too much into it.”

Megumi’s throat closed up. He couldn’t say it. Not here. Not like this.

“I’m sorry.” He said instead.

You stood, brushing off your pants. “Don’t be. It’s my fault. I let myself think you cared.”

He looked up sharply, eyes wide. But you were already walking away, each step driving nails deeper into the floor of his chest.

——————————————————————————

Later that night, Megumi sat in the common room with Yuji and Nobara, both chattering about something or other while he stared at the floor.

“You okay, bro?” Yuji asked between bites of chips.

Megumi didn’t answer right away.

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

“I messed up.” Megumi said simply.

Yuji blinked. “Did you two fight?”

“No.” He exhaled through his nose. “But I lied. I said I didn’t care about her. And she heard it.”

Nobara grimaced. “Yeah, okay. That’s bad.”

“I didn’t want you two making a big deal out of it,” Megumi muttered.

“Dude, you made a big deal out of it.” Yuji pointed out. “You went all ice-prince ‘I don’t like her at all’ of course she’s hurt.”

Megumi scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought if I pretended it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Nobara crossed her arms. “And now?”

“Now it hurts worse.”

——————————————————————————

The clouds broke open just after you and Megumi were dispatched together on a joint mission outside Tokyo.

A cursed spirit had been stalking a neighborhood near Kyoto, an old manufacturing district turned residential. It wasn’t high-grade, likely a grade 2, maybe 1 but it was slippery and fast, and the higher-ups wanted it gone discreetly. Gojo had paired you and Megumi “You two are quiet and competent.” He said. “No property damage, please.”

You’d barely said a word to Megumi on the train. He hadn’t tried to start a conversation either. The air between you was heavy, like a storm about to break.

Now, trudging through the damp streets just after sunset, the rain soaked through your jackets, making your breath fog and your hands cold. Your cursed energy flickered outward, on alert.

“It’s close.” You murmured, scanning the alley ahead.

Megumi nodded, summoning Divine Dogs. “Split left. If you catch it, don’t engage alone.”

You nodded stiffly. “Copy.”

He hated this. Not the mission, he could handle the mission. He hated the way you moved around him like a stranger, your voice clipped, movements economical, eyes never quite meeting his.

He wanted to reach out. But every time he opened his mouth, the words died on his tongue.

——————————————————————————

The cursed spirit was stronger than expected.

It lunged from the shadows behind a warehouse, fast and wide, all teeth and claws and thick, bristling curses that slashed like wire through the air. You ducked under its first strike, slashing upward with your blade. It screeched, retreating, and you pursued.

Then, too late, you felt the shift.

A second spirit dropped from the roof behind you, small, but fast. Its claws raked your side before you could turn, searing pain flashing hot across your ribs.

You cried out. Megumi’s blood ran cold.

“Y/N!” He shouted, moving fast. Shadows burst outward, his wolves intercepting the small one before it could strike again.

He reached you in three heartbeats.

You staggered, one hand pressed to your side, blood seeping between your fingers. “I didn’t sense the second one.”

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” he snapped, eyes dark. “I told you not to engage- ”

“I had to.” You hissed. “It was going after a kid- ”

“Goddammit, Y/N.”

He didn’t mean to sound so furious. But fear twisted in his gut, ugly and choking.

He moved fast, summoning Nue to stall the remaining spirit as he caught you, half carrying you out of the danger zone. His grip was tight, protective, anchoring, and trembling just slightly.

You winced. “I can walk- ”

“Don’t argue with me right now.” He said, voice low.

He didn’t let go.

——————————————————————————

You sat against the wall of an abandoned convenience store, blood soaking your uniform. Megumi worked silently, cleaning the wound with water from his canteen and bandaging you as best he could.

You stared past him, jaw clenched. “If this is about me being annoying again, don’t bother.”

Megumi’s hands froze.

“What?”

“I get it.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes. “I smile too much. I ask too many questions. I’m a burden. I’m not as strong as you or Yuji. You don’t have to pretend.”

His voice was quiet. “You really think I feel that way?”

“I heard you, Megumi. That day. You didn’t just say you didn’t like me. You sounded like the idea of liking me was disgusting.”

Megumi sat back on his heels, breath unsteady. The rain had stopped, but thunder still rolled distantly in the sky.

He looked wrecked.

“I didn’t mean it.” He said finally. “I was trying to shut Yuji and Nobara up. They wouldn’t stop teasing me. I panicked.”

You stared at him, hollow. “And the part about me being annoying?”

He swallowed. “I was angry. Not at you. At myself. I’ve felt this way for months and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I turned it into something ugly so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Silence.

He looked down, ashamed. “You were never annoying. I lied.”

Your throat burned. “Why?”

“Because I like you so much it scares the hell out of me.” He said, finally meeting your eyes. “You make me feel like I’m not just a weapon. Like I’m allowed to be human. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

You stared at him.

“I thought if I kept it quiet, I could protect it. Protect you. But I ended up hurting you instead.”

Your voice cracked. “You really like me?”

His answer was immediate. “Yes. A lot.”

The silence between you changed. It wasn’t cold anymore. It buzzed warm and uncertain.

You exhaled shakily. “I thought I was just being stupid.”

“You’re not.” He said, leaning closer. “You’re not stupid. You’re brave. Kind. Smarter than me, half the time. You see people for who they are and you still smile like the world doesn’t deserve you.”

You blinked fast. “That was… a lot.”

He blushed furiously. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been holding it in.”

You reached for him without thinking, hand brushing his wrist. He stilled, then turned his hand under yours, fingers closing around yours.

Your voice was small. “I like you too, you know.”

Megumi let out a breath like he’d been drowning and finally found air.

“I know.” He said softly. “I just didn’t want to believe it. Thought maybe if I ignored it, I wouldn’t mess it up.”

You smiled weakly. “You kind of did mess it up.”

He nodded. “I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

“I’ll stop hiding.” He said. “I’ll be honest with you. From now on no more running away.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“Okay.” You said. “But that means telling Nobara.”

He groaned. “Please no.”

“She knows.”

“She’ll never shut up.”

“She deserves the satisfaction.”

He scowled. “You’re cruel.”

You smiled, softer now. “You like that about me.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached up gently, pushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, reverent. You leaned into it.

“You’re not allowed to lie again.” You whispered. “Not about how you feel.”

“Promise.” He said.

And when he leaned in, tentative but sure, and pressed his forehead to yours, you felt the shift not just in the air, but in the weight you’d both been carrying.

This time, it didn’t feel so heavy.

——————————————————————————

The next day, back at the dorms, Nobara cornered Megumi on the steps.

“So” She said with narrowed eyes. “Y/N looked very happy this morning.”

Megumi sighed. “Don’t start.”

Yuji leaned around the doorway. “Wait- wait. Did you finally tell her?!”

Megumi muttered. “Yes.”

Both Nobara and Yuji exploded with noise.

“I KNEW IT!”

“ABOUT TIME!”

“I GIVE IT THREE WEEKS BEFORE HE PANICS AGAIN!”

Megumi, for once, didn’t snap at them. He just shook his head and let the teasing roll off.

Because when he looked across the courtyard and saw you waiting, smiling that real, soft smile just for him and nothing else mattered.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @pickledsoda @savagecatsuga @suna-yoshihara @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[encherries]

haaii nie, any thoughts on sunghoon (or jay) & spanking? >_< hehe nd btw im also the anon that said ure my new favorite writer ,, !!

hi love!! i decided to go with both bc i have such clear visions for each of them :3 thank u so much for requesting and saying im ur fav writer >< i hope u enjoy ♡

warnings : dom/sub relations, spanking (obv), fingering, punishments, degradation

jay is a soft dom through and through. he doesn't usually get his pleasure from bringing you pain or degradation, instead likes to take his time with you and watch you fall apart slowly as he praises you for being his good girl. however if you misbehave bad enough or act like a brat, he'll dish out a punishment to put you back in your place. still likes to drag it out a little as he tells you to get on the bed with your head down and ass up and leaves you in that position with his hands running over your ass, luring you into a false sense of security until he suddenly brings his hand down harshly, drinking in your surprised moan. loves to see how soaked you get from it too, teases you about it and then does it again just for good measure. spanks you just enough to make sure you're reminded of your place, and then takes care of you by making you come over and over again as you promise to be good from now on.

sunghoon is the complete opposite. he's all about strictness and rules and will not take any kind of misbehaving from you lightly. splays you out over his lap, holding you down by your neck and harsly tugging down your panties. orders you to count as he delivers mean and harsh slaps to your ass. tells you to keep your position still or he will add more when you start squirming. roughly drags his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness and smearing it out over your ass as he spanks you again. degardes you by calling you a filthy slut for getting so turned on by this. your pleas and cries won't do anything, he'll keep going until he's certain you've learned your lesson, even though he knows you secretly enjoy it when he's mean like this and you'll definitely misbehave again just for his punishments.

[viperify]

Im late but congrats on the 1k mar!!

If possible can i get the dating booth?

I'm a Gryffindor with some Slytherin tendencies, a Virgo. I enjoy DADA and Potions. My ideal date would probably be walking around Hogsmeade and checking out clothing/accessory stores. A few character traits of mine are being an extroverted introvert (veryyy talkative with the right people), artistic, in love with fashion, and painfully observant.

You deserve this, im happy you've reached this point and I can't wait to see everything you'll write in the future! ❤️

1k celebration | ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

౨ৎ Shopping Date.

A/N: hi baby!!! thank u sm for requesting and ur sweet sweet words. ilysm!!! <333 so sorry for the long wait, I am trying to catch up, I promise!!!

Weak sun rays tickle your skin when you pull aside the curtains of your window, letting light flood your dorm.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning in late spring—deer grazing at the edge of the forest, fog slowly but surely lifting itself from the ground.

Especially beautiful because Mattheo invited you to a trip to Hogsmeade—one of your favourite places to spend a free afternoon. Strolling through narrow streets, checking out the shops’ displays.

Obviously also trying on various new outfits, accessories, dresses of the finest fabrics which you’d never be able to afford—not at the moment, at least.

After lunch, Mattheo picks you up at your dorm, a smile spreading on his lips as he takes your hand in his, leading you away from the busy corridors and towards Hogsmeade. 

As usual, you first end up in Madam Malkin’s shop. Walking through shelf after shelf of newly arrived summer clothes.

By the time you have seen everything, a pile of clothes has gathered on Mattheo’s arms—but he doesn’t complain, not once.

Not even when you take your time trying on everything—and ask for his opinion on every single piece.

“That skirt looks gorgeous on you,” he says, eyes scanning over your figure, stopping briefly at the ruffled hem against your skin.

“You say that every time.” You reply, rolling your eyes at him as he takes a step closer to run his fingers over the fabric, pulling you in for a kiss.

His eyes soften, tone gentle and genuine. “Because I mean it. You look stunning in everything you wear, sweetheart.”

“You’re no good help, Matty.” You tease playfully, disappearing behind the curtains again.

Mattheo proudly carries your bags around, just so you have free hands to feel and try on anything you want.

You stop at one particular window, displaying a short, red dress—your favourite shade of red, too. You’ve felt over it countless times, even tried it on—but never bought it.

It’s made of a soft, silky fabric, flowing nicely and not too thick—perfect for a little summer evening date.

“You should get it, you know.” He mutters, taking a step forward to stand beside you, looking at you—recognizing the spark in your eyes you always have whenever you want something.

“Maybe some day.” You reply, turning to head to your last stop for the day—the Three Broomsticks.

And when the night gets long, perhaps a little bit too long, your friends joining in for a few drinks—you don’t even notice Mattheo slipping away for a few minutes.

But what you do notice? The smirk on his face for the rest of the night.

And when you wake up the next morning, you realise why.

A white box, wrapped with a ribbon, waiting for you. You recognize the brand immediately—one of the finest dressmakers in England—specifically the designer of the dress you’ve wanted for months.

When you open the lid, your fingers brush over the material—soft, silky—familiar.

You don’t hesitate, immediately knocking on Mattheo’s door.

As soon as the door opens, he sees the impossibly happy look on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him.

And that’s how he knows it was all worth it.

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3

—

masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ SLEEPING AID

જ⁀➴ You struggle to fall asleep and Xavier is there to help you.

ﾉ character: Xavier

ﾉ reader: genderneutral

ﾉ cw: mentions of sleep deprivation

ﾉ notes: requested by @sadfragilegirl thank you so much my love ♥️ || TAGLIST

♡ Xavier could always sleep. Anywhere, at any given time and he made it look so easy too - so why couldn't you?

♡ You tossed and turned in your own bed, no position quite comfortable enough, the ambience either too quiet or too loud. Everything just felt off, no matter what you did.

♡ Your phone was turned off to rid yourself of the urge to doom scroll and the little clock on your bedside table was long unplugged, the silent ticking drove you into insanity.

♡ When you went to bed, you were relaxed, knowing you'd get 8-9 hours of sleep and will be well rested for your exhausting day tomorrow but by now, you'd be lucky if you even got 4 hours of somewhat restful slumber.

♡ This pattern kept repeating almost nightly. Your nerves were wearing thin and you were crawling on your last energy reserves - even Xavier noticed that something was wrong.

♡ Granted, he did notice it after your first sleepless night, you just looked so tired, but he didn't want to bring it up, not wanting to put pressure on you or make you think that you're anything less than beautiful in his eyes. Some bags under your eyes would never change that.

♡ But he also refuses to let you go on like that. The fact that you cant sleep is robbing him of sleep too, so one evening he simply walks downstairs to your apartment and knocks on the door. He has a key, he knows you gave him permission to just enter when you got together - but he still never did so.

♡ You opened the door and rubbed your eyes, looking oh so tired but the sun barely set. The confusion is practically written all over your face.

♡ “We're having a sleepover.” He states and pushes past you, kissing your temple gently as he passes. Gently, he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom.

♡ “Xav, what are you-” you ask but he interrupts you as he climbs into your bed.

♡ “You barely slept these past few weeks. And I'll make sure that changes” he opened his arms and you climbed into them without hesitation. You wanted to cry, to break down in his arms but you were too exhausted to even do that.

♡ His fingers ran through your hair and his steady heartbeat did calm you down enough to put you in a state of trance, shy of falling asleep but the slumber never came.

♡ Xavier was beyond tired himself so he carefully moved positions to lay on top of you, body resting between your legs and his head came to rest on your chest. He felt like a weighted blanket and this did the trick.

♡ Slowly but surely, sleep overtook your senses with your boyfriend soundly sleeping on top of you.

♡ Maybe this was a sign that you two finally needed to move in together or at least spend the nights together. His presence felt like home to you, comforting and warm.

♡ If you still find yourself sleepless with him, he would always be ready to tell you stories, read to you or move to the couch to watch movies - you shouldn't linger in bed if you can't sleep after all.

♡ You were no longer alone with your thoughts and it's as if his mere presence silences your mind and rids your heart of worry.

[crybabystilinski]

hii! I just saw your post saying you love buzzcut stiles can you please write for him!! he needs more attention🫶

ᝰ NOTE — yesyesyes he needs more attention he’s so silly also so sorry this took me forever😞 i’m trying to get through some requests!!

SUMMARY — it’s your mission to get stiles flustered and nervous everyday OR three times you made stiles way too flustered + the one time he made you flustered.

PAIRING — bsf!stiles x bsf!reader

ONE. COMPLIMENTS & HUGGING

the harsh sting of cold autumn air bit at your bare arms, but you were getting used to ignoring it.

this was the fifth lacrosse game of the season, and although you had a general idea of what was going on—you were really only there to support your friends. it didn’t hurt that your best friend was unknowingly super hot and sat on the bench talking to you most of the time.

and if he was playing? holy shit.

he was unknowingly hot. meaning—when he does play—he gets all sweaty, out of breath and panting, and he’s fully unaware of the affect he has on you. it still baffles you that ’nobody’ finds him attractive. you didn’t believe it.

you wanted to jump his bones daily.

him being nerdy about the things he likes? that’s hot. him twitching his fingers around when he’s thinking or when he’s nervous? put them inside.

the point was, he was hot. and he had no idea.

sure, the buzzcut itself wasn’t the best, and it definitely fucked with his confidence, but it wasn’t bad at all. he had a nice jaw and head shape.

but right now, that didn’t matter. all that mattered was stiles’ stick having the ball in it.

you stood up, cheering with the rest of the crowd. this was one of the last shots on a very close game, a deciding play.

“yeah! go stiles!” — things along that line.

you were sure he heard you, because when he did make it in, he looked right at you. he smiled, you could tell through his helmet, and then waved.

he fucking waved at you.

he felt like an idiot in that moment, up until you waved back with a proud smile. the moment weighed on him, hearing and feeling the praise of his team around him. of you.

he won the game. he helped win the game. he got the winning shot.

you hold back, even though it’s the last thing you want to do right now, and you let him have his moment. but that doesn’t mean you didn’t slowly trail down to the field and watch him with nothing short of admiration and lust.

so when stiles finally broke free from his teammates, he ran up to you. scott could smell the anxiety and need from both of you.

“did you see? i did it! i got the fucking winning shot! you saw, right? you saw?” he was rambling on about his win while you just nodded, staring into his wide honey eyes.

“i saw, you did so good. you were amazing.” as soon as the words came out of your mouth, he was quiet. not in the silent, upset way, but like he realized something.

you pulled yourself on him in a hug, your arms around his neck while his fell still. like if he moved, it was all over.

he smiled, cheeky and shy and all too cutely nervous for himself. “thanks.” he mumbled as he hesitantly wrapped an arm around you.

you nodded while pulling away slowly, giving him another once-over.

“oh, don’t mind how gross and sweaty i am.” he laughed nervously, cheeks slightly more red than usual—from both lacrosse and you.

he was nervous.

he didn’t want you to be grossed out by him, but he felt like he needed to apologize. even if it meant drawing more attention to what he didn’t want you to notice.

he wasn’t expecting you to pull him in for another hug. “i don’t care, stiles.”

stiles was beaming.

TWO. HOLDING HANDS & CHEEK KISSES

the sickly sweet smell of greasy curly fries and corndogs wafted into your nose the moment you pulled into the autumn-fair’s parking lot.

it took only minor begging from you and stiles to convince scott to come along.

aka, stiles begged him in private so that he didn’t make a total idiot of himself. if you and him went alone, he would think about dates with you, dating you, doing things that people do when they’re dating. ultimately he would get borderline embarrassing with how nervous he got.

“i’m so excited. stiles, what are we riding first?”

it was nothing. merely you addressing him specifically. but it made his head spin and his stomach twirl.

he hummed, feigning casualty. “the zipper or the spinny one.”

scott snorted. “which spinny one?”

“the gravity one?” you asked and stiles nodded, holding back on bickering with scott. “we should do the zipper first.”

once you got close enough to see all of the rides, after getting your wristbands, you held yourself back from running.

scott was still getting his wristband, and stiles looked the same as you. ready to make a run for it.

“go ahead, guys. it’s a two-person ride, and i need to find allison anyway.” scott said as you nodded, grabbing stiles hand and sprinting away.

stiles was caught off guard.

you were holding his hand. scott invited allison. this looks like a double date. he wants it to be a double date. do you want it to be a date?

you tugged on his hand, “stiles, c’mon.”

he smiled against himself and sped up.

he was expecting you to let go of his hand once he was going a speed you liked. but your hand never dropped. in fact, you readjusted to thread your fingers between his.

the classic romantic hand-hold.

on the ride you let go, of course, and stiles thought that was that. but once the two of you were off the ride, you laced your hand with his.

“don’t wanna get lost in the crowd.” you explained, but didn’t let go even after the crowd.

you approached scott and allison with a deep grin on your face that only got more shy as you watched them notice your hands.

allison’s eyes widened, and she silently asked “what’s going on?” with her face. you shook your head and smiled.

“what’s next?” scott asked, getting everyones attention. stiles started listing off rides, planning when to take a break and eat, when to go to the small shops, etc.

once all four of you decided on a plan, you went out and did it. a few rides held all of you, or you would go in duos. sometimes you and stiles, sometimes you and allison.

after the fair closed, after stiles dropped scott and allison off at the mccall house, it was your turn to be taken home.

stiles took off toward your house, actually going the speed limit and taking as many extra roads as he could. he wanted as much time as he could get with you.

you were sitting in silence, the only sound being your music coming from his beat-up speakers.

“thanks for taking us today, stiles. i had a great time.” you said as he pulled into your driveway, unbuckling your seatbelt.

he chuckled nervously, “yeah, no, of course. i had fun too.” he tapped against the steering wheel with his fingers, barely tilting his head toward you. he wouldn’t make eye contact.

it almost made you rethink your next move.

almost.

you leaned toward him as you opened the door, placing one unmistakable kiss on his cheek. “goodnight.” you whispered as you got out, not looking back to see his reaction.

stiles was frozen, mouth hanging open, jaw slack as he stared at the back of your retreating figure.

“oh.”

THREE. KISSING “PRACTICE”

the end of the school year. you were slightly disappointed that nothing had come of yours and stiles’ relationship, but it was reasonable. the plan was to tell him by the end of the year, but then of course werewolves got involved.

throughout all—werewolves, girlfriends, peter hale—you, stiles, and scott stayed a loyal trio.

but it had been a month since the last supernatural issue, coming up on the last day of the school year. you knew you would probably have to make the first move for anything to happen, but you wished stiles could take hints.

instead, you were laid on his bed with him. comfortably sunk in the corner, your legs draped over his lap. he had a hand rested on your knee, but it was anything but casual.

constant twitching.

light, almost ticklish, strokes every now and then, like he wanted to be physically with you but didn’t know how to.

your last conversation had ended a few minutes ago, now just watching a movie. your choice, since he had just made you watch all of star wars after finding out you hadn’t seen any.

so you sat in silence, taking small peeks at an oblivious stiles while he intensely watched the rom-com he swore he hated.

all normal. expected. comfortable.

until the movie shows the main couple making out, stiles readjusts. you notice, but ignore it. until he moves again, looking over to you.

“don’t you think that would be awkward? basically having sex in front of all those cameras?” he asked, motioning to the tv. you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from you.

“they’re just kissing, stiles. and they get paid so much, they don’t need to care.”

he scoffs, “and grinding, and look—he just took her shirt off! what are you making me watch?”

you laugh, harder now. “making you? you’re watching them kiss so intensely i could go home and you wouldn’t notice until the movie was over.”

his mouth flies open, jaw dropped dramatically. “i would notice! and you put the movie on, i don’t personally like watching people have sex.”

“i don’t either! and you’re trying to tell me you don’t watch porn?” you giggled, seeing how red his face got.

“no! i don’t need to. i have my imagination.”

you fake gagged. “oh i did not need to know that.” he pouted while you had another thought. maybe one you shouldn’t ask, but do anyway. “how would you know what to imagine without porn? i know you haven’t had your first kiss, much less fucked.”

he looked like a fish out of water. his mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say.

“and whose fault is that?” he retorted.

you scrunched your nose, trying to think of what else he could mean. “mine? do you want me to kiss you?” a wave of confidence rushed over you as you said that and leaned close with a playful pucker.

when he didn’t move away, just looked at your lips and back to your eyes with a shaky breath, you leaned into him with all seriousness.

playfulness gone, your breath on his face, he nodded just barely.

and you kissed him.

+ ONE. HICKIES

“y/n, what is that? is that a hickey?” issac asked, getting everyones attention. he then looked to stiles, “really, stiles?”

lydia giggled, and you didn’t say anything when stiles simply shrugged. but he caught the glare.

the ’we’ll talk about this later’ look.

the group burst in loud conversation. nothing bad, just lighthearted teasing and jokes.

“this is your fault, y’know.” you said, feigning annoyance through your smile. he just nodded with his typical shit-eating grin.

“i know. and it was so worth it.”

[paucubarsisimp]

contigo, siempre

pairing: marc guiu x reader

summary: in which marc gets substituted early only to find out that you are in labour

warnings: pregnancy, labour

requested on my wattpad!

fifteen minutes in, and marc's legs already ached in that familiar way — the burn that meant he was fully locked into the game. chelsea was pressing high, the ball zipping across the pitch, and he’d just made a deep run into the box, heart racing, hoping for a cross that never came.

then he saw it.

his number.

he blinked up at the fourth official, not quite registering it. why him? it wasn’t tactical — he’d been playing well. his chest was still rising and falling fast, and when he jogged over to the sideline, the manager stepped forward.

there was a look in his eyes that made marc's stomach twist.

“she’s in labour,” the manager said, quiet and firm. “go. now.”

marc didn’t even respond. he just turned and ran, boots still on, shirt sticking to his back, mind spinning with a million thoughts and none at all.

the hospital was colder than he expected. bright, white, too quiet compared to the noise still ringing in his ears from the pitch. he followed the nurse’s voice without really hearing her, legs moving like they had in the last minutes of a game — fast, clumsy, full of adrenaline.

then he saw you.

you were sitting up in bed, cheeks flushed, eyes closed tight as a contraction took over. the second your head turned and you saw him, something in your whole body softened.

“marc,” you whispered, like you weren’t sure if he was real.

“i’m here,” he said, breathless, voice barely holding steady. “i made it. i’m here.”

he dropped his bag to the floor and crossed to you, taking your hand in both of his. you gripped his fingers like a lifeline. he pressed his forehead to yours, still panting, still in his boots.

“you came,” you murmured, already tearing up.

“of course i did. i wasn’t gonna miss this.” he kissed your knuckles, then your temple, like you were breakable and brave all at once. “you’re so strong. i’m so proud of you, cariño.”

the hours passed slowly, but also too fast. marc didn’t sit down once. he held your hand through every contraction, whispered quiet encouragements when you cried, wiped your forehead with trembling hands and kissed your wrist over and over.

“you’re okay,” he whispered. “you’re not alone. i’ve got you.”

and then, suddenly, she was here.

a cry filled the room. marc stood frozen, eyes wide, chest rising and falling as he watched a tiny, pink, wriggling baby get placed gently in your arms. your hands shook as you held her. he didn’t even realize he was crying until his vision blurred.

“she’s real,” you whispered, looking up at him. “she’s ours.”

marc reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers so gentle it felt like a whisper.

“she’s so small,” he said, almost laughing through the tears. “she’s so… perfect.”

you nodded, still breathless, exhausted. “you missed the second half.”

“yeah,” he said, finally sitting beside you. “but i won something better.”

you rested your head against his shoulder, her heartbeat pressed against yours, his arm tight around your back.

“i love you,” he said, into your hair.

“i love you too amor. siempre.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, lmk if you want to be added!

[ameliaenya404]

More than a Spark

Pairing: Eddie x gn!reader [no explicit detailed mention of the reader's genitalia and gender neutral terms]

Lots of built up sexual tension because it's the best kind of tension

Wc: 1500+

Desperation.

Yearning.

Two things that look unbelievably perfect on every dateable in your home. Especially a certain brooding, dark-haired man down at the breaker box. It's undeniable how Eddie's no good for you, how he's a bit of an asshole who struggles with getting any emotion other that stoicism, which is really a lack of emotion, out when he's around anyone, much less you. But you can see it on his face when he doesn't think you notice.

His heavy-lidded gaze lingers on you as you nurse a drink at the bar, Volt sweet-talking you and Johnny Splash performing yet another charming but terrible a cappella on the stage. Eddie wants you. Badly. You can see it written all over his face, and the white knuckled grip he has on the drinking glasses whenever you tease him.

Volt is easier to read, easier to talk to and touch and Makeout with in the shitty dim lit backroom of the breaker box. Eddie not so much. You've yet to get your hands on his chest and your tongue on his but you have a feeling it might be tonight with the way the bar starts to clear out and he's still glancing your way as he wipes down the bar top.

"You heading home or what?" His gruff voice almost gives you full body shivers, it fills the empty air and demands your attention.

Glancing back at him and moving down a few barstools to sit in front of him, propping your elbows onto the counter he's trying to clean, you smile at him.

"Sounds like you want me to leave," You pout, not that you can pull any sympathy from the man in the state he's in, but maybe you could get something in other than a tired goodnight.

"There are a lot of things I want," his response is vague and casual but leading onto something more that makes your core feel weird. Good weird.

His voice never failed to stir up some feeling inside of you. More specifically the way he spoke. His tone. The words he used. Every sentence is crafted carefully to further uphold the closed-off vibe you got from him. Like he'd let on just enough to pique your curiosity and leave you wanting for more, it was begging to get on your nerves.

"Are you always-"

"Such an asshole?" He chuckles lowly before you can finish.

"Difficult. I was going to say difficult." You retort with a roll of your eyes.

"I'm not exactly sure what it is you want from me, Volt gives you plenty of attention."

"There are a lot of things I want," you repeat his vague statement, giving back the same energy he gave to you.

"Real smart, one of those things being?"

"You," it was time one of you came out and said it.

You were beginning to grow impatient and would rather get shut down than not take a chance at this. Plus talking to Reggie was enjoyable to you, at least there were some positives to getting rejected.

"You have Volt," he says, tossing the towel over his shoulder and giving you a look.

"Call me greedy but I want you too," you shrug, tracing little shapes onto the bar top with the tip of your finger, looking at him through your lashes.

"...I have a feeling I'll regret inviting you to the back," he groans. Which bassicly meant you were.

Months of chipping away at the man's patience led up to this moment and you were thrilled, though you tried not to show too much of it on your face. Only a fraction of it in the form of a slight smirk to mirror his own.

"I'll be good I promise," you giggle softly.

"Oh I'm sure you will," he grumbles, the back of his knuckles sliding against the underside of your jaw and across your cheek slowly before he turns around a begins walking, "You coming?"

You fight back the urge to say 'Oh I will be," instead opting to follow him to the back of the club. The minute you step foot in the back area your arms are around his neck, lips brushing eachother as a silent request.

Permission is granted when he presses his lips against yours. It's hungry and desperate and tense, everything you expected a kiss with him to be like. Behind all the pent-up frustration it's surprisingly gentle and considerate. His hands are on your back, sliding down to get a firm grip on your ass, something that prompts you to moan into the kiss.

Messy is the only way to describe the way your tongue slides against his as one hands find purchase in his hair and the other rests on his firm chest. You tilt your head to kiss him better, deeper. Your noses bump and teeth clash a bit but neither of you finds it in yourselves to react or make a deal out of it, too lost in the heart-racing sensation of each other's lips locked after months of built-up glances and sexually charged interactions.

Eventually, you have to part with him for the necessity that is oxygen. If you didn't need air you think you'd never willingly part from him. Forhead to forhead, his hands still gripping onto your ass, your hands still in his hair now dragging down to hold his face as you both pant. It's hot and stuffy in the backroom, a shitty torn up couch and box TV shoved in a corner to keep Volt and him entertained or something, Volt talked about it one time but you were too preoccupied with kissing on his neck to care.

The fantasy of having them both on and in you was never fleeting, but you had just gotten Eddie so you figured you'd still have to work up to the Volt and Eddie sandwich you so desperately wanted.

"I want to fuck you so bad, I need to fuck you so bad" Eddie groans. A sentence you've never thought you'd hear in your life time blessing your ears. You could have jumped up and down with joy if it wasn't mood-killing.

"I wanna fuck you too, so fucking bad Eddie you don't even know." You chuckle, kissing him again.

"Oh I think I know," he groans against your lips, lifting you up with ease and dropping you onto the couch.

For a torn-up god knows how old piece of furniture it provided some comfort, just about the bare minimum though. It was awkward to position yourselves on, you opted for having him take his pants off and sit down, and straddle him for a more efficient position. He slid his vest off and let out a groan the minute your hands touched his bare chest and your lips were kissing his neck and jaw.

You wondered if he could shock you. Maybe not, Volt was the real electricity and energy, Eddie was just the...wires? Well, you could get shocked by wires, yeah? Volts shocks stung enough so you weren't exactly willing to test your theory with Eddie. Instead trying to avoid his wires, similar to how you avoided touching Volt's wild hair. Though it was pretty to look at.

"You want this, live wire?" The endearing little nickname leaving his lips in his voice in that tone made you shiver. Nodding enthusiastically.

"I need to hear you say it," he chuckles, one hand gently holding your chin, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your cheek as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"I want this," you practically whine. The sexy confident act falls a little, leaving behind the sight of someone who needs something really bad. Leaving behind the sight of pure desperation and desire. You could see some of it in his dark eyes too.

"You want what, live wire?"

The way he was looking at you was positively simple and it made you weak everywhere.

"I want you to fuck me Eddie, need it. So so bad. Need it so bad, please fuck me." You amped the pleading up, giving him everything he wanted and more, giving him a look of want, slightly biting your bottom lip, your brows furrowed a bit and your eyes sparkling with something sensual.

It felt erotic.

It was erotic.

It was no longer just sexy, passing glances. No longer a thought in your mind you entertained every night alone in bed. You were straddling him on his couch, your hands exploring his chest. It was sensual and erotic and almost perverted the way the two of you were looking at each other. Touching each other, as if you'd never touch each other again.

Which you very well might not. He could decide he wants nothing to do with you after tonight. But deep down part of you knew Eddie and how he wouldn't do that. Once he's deep in something he stays. And soon he'd be deep into you, literally.

With your explicit permission he slides down your pants until they fall onto the floor, you in turn sliding down his boxers until they rest halfway down his thighs. He's a good size, the perfect girth to fill you up and leave you completely satisfied with no want for anything more other than him pounding into you.

You giggled softly as he groaned from your hands sliding down his chest, brushing against his happy trail and down to his cock. Stroking it a few times just to relish in the sounds he made in response before lining yourself up with his length.

The sounds you both let out as you sit down on him are sinful and filled with pleasure. Your head tilts back as you moan but his hand comes up to grab your chin bringing your face inches from his, his lips brushing softly against yours as you settle on his cock. Accustoming yourself to the stretch and the slight sting that melts right into ecstasy. Eddie kisses you with passion, pouring everything pent up into it as you got used to the feeling of his cock inside you. The gruff closed off asshole who worked at the Breaker Box now laid beneath you looking perfect and kissing you like he'd never get the chance to again.

"I'm gonna move now, kay'?" You mumble softly against his lips and he nods, with his permission you begin to slowly move up and down his cock before going just a bit faster once you get a sense of rhythm.

The sounds he makes are more than enough to let you know you're doing perfectly. Riding him is euphoric, a sensation unlike any other. The dimly lit stuffy backroom and broken-down couch creaking only add to the dirty real feeling of it all. It was messy, your wetness making your thighs slick as you went up and down on his cock. His cock felt perfect and snug inside of you, your hands resting on his broad shoulders, finger nails digging into them drawing a groan from his lips which you then kissed, swallowing the sounds he was making, your own sweetly blending with them.

You reach your peak, coming with a long satisfied moan, head thrown back a bit, his calloused hands gently rubbing your hips and working you through it. Right before, you can feel him about to come, slipping off of him and stroking his cock a few times until thick ropes of cum hit your and his stomach as he finishes with a satisfied moan.

You both sit there, sweaty and panting, trying to calm down.

"You know, I would've appreciated a little invitation to this show." Volt's voice startles both of you out of the trance you were in.

"I'll be sure to let you know next time then," Eddie chuckles, his hands resting warmly on your waist and everything seems to click into place as you all let out small laughs.

[schlattschlut]

Stained - Schlatt Smut

This was a request! (I can’t reply for some reason so thank you anon!!) I couldn’t pass it up it was a little too good.

Cw: Smut, fingering, angry schlatt, angry sex, hate fucking adjacent, squirting

Wc: 1.1k

Schlatt was no stranger when it came to treating himself, especially with expensive and fancy furniture to decorate the house with. He refused to even tell me the price tag on the couch, claiming it was a good investment and I shouldn’t worry about it.

One evening, Ted had stopped by for a visit. He sat down on the couch next to Schlatt, holding a glass of wine that I had offered him while I tucked myself into Schlatts lap.

Schlatt cracks a joke that makes Ted laugh, he throws his head back and the liquid in his cup sloshes a bit. A few drops escape over the brim of the cup, landing directly on the couch and soaking into it immediately.

“Are you fucking serious?” Schlatt raises his voice slightly, setting down his own drink to stand, grabbing my hips to gently pull me from his lap and examine the small red droplets on the couch cushion.

“Shit,” Ted copies Schlatts actions and stands, he looked genuinely apologetic and even a bit scared, “I’m sure you can get it dry cleaned…”

Schlatt scoffs, “That’s not the point, dude. If you knew how much this couch costs, your head would spin. You can’t just take this to any dry cleaner.”

“It was an accident.” Ted huffs, starting to get annoyed that Schlatt was making such a big deal out of it. I take a step back, watching the argument unfold as I kept quiet.

They bicker back and forth for several minutes about how serious the situation actually was, neither wanting to accept any blame while the wine dried into the fabric. It doesn’t take long for Ted to grow tired of the conversation that just keeps going in circles, so he decides to call it a night. He and Schlatt hardly say a word to one another as Ted steps out the front door, clicking it shut behind him.

Schlatt stalks back into the living room after locking the door. He was clearly still upset with Ted, his shoulders tense and his breathing heavier than usual. He sits down on the couch again, staring at the small stain Ted had created.

I sigh as I stare at him for a moment before crawling into his lap and straddling him, “You’re really upset about this?”

Schlatt huffs, “Yes.” His hands grip my hips tightly.

“He really didn’t mean it.” I murmur, placing my hands on his chest in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“Don’t care.” Schlatt replies gruffly, reaching up to tangle his fingers in my hair; pulling me closer to connect our lips feverishly.

I gasp softly against his lips, holding onto his shoulders to steady myself as his tongue brushes against my bottom lip before pushing into my mouth roughly.

A soft moan escapes me as he deepens the kiss; I feel his cock twitch in his shorts, getting harder by the second. I smile into the kiss and rock my hips into his gently.

Schlatt groans, his hips bucking off the couch in response. “Careful.” He huffs.

“Or what?” I taunt back, smiling innocently at him.

He scoffs quietly, grabbing my hips tightly as he flips me over onto the couch. “Don’t be a brat.”

“I’m not.” I smile again, lying through my teeth. Schlatt grips my face tightly, squishing my cheeks as he brings his face closer to mine. He leans back slightly for just a moment before pursing his lips and spitting into my mouth.

“Yes you are.” His voice is low, I can tell he’s still angry at Ted and his patience for my brattiness is growing thin.

His resolve fades quickly, his fingers pushing my dress up my hips, exposing my bare core to the cool air of the house.

Schlatt tsks at the sight, running his fingers through my wetness slowly. “No panties in front of Ted? It’s like you’re asking to be punished.”

I hardly process his words, not getting the chance to respond as he presses two of his fingers into me firmly. All of the air is pulled from my lungs, my back arching into him as he curls his fingers to press against my g-spot.

Schlatt leans back ever so slightly, his fingers reaching a new angle as his other hand reaches down to rub tight circles on my clit. “Schlatt-“

“Shut up.” He grunts lowly, landing a harsh slap against my core.

I struggle to catch my breath, my body practically vibrating beneath him as his fingers worked expertly to bring me to the edge. But every time he knew I was getting close, he slowed down, pulling his hands away for just a moment; only to return his touch to me again and again. I knew he was doing it on purpose, trying to teach me some lesson about decency while also trying to cope with his anger towards Ted.

My body starts to grow weak beneath him, only able to pant heavily as my legs shake with each thrust of his fingers.

“Please…” I whine pathetically.

“You wanna come?” He asks, his voice almost taunting. “You wanna come around my fingers, huh?”

My hand grips his shoulder, I nod my head in agreement as my back arches further off the couch. I can feel my release building again, much stronger this time than it has been. My body won’t allow me to hold back, I whimper softly in an attempt to warn him, but the dark look I catch in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

It hits like a brick wall, I whine out repeatedly as I feel my release spray out onto Schlatts hand and forearm, his shirt catching some of the mess as well; though most of it lands on the couch between us.

My body shakes softly, Schlatts fingers slowing down to a pause before he places a gentle kiss on my inner thigh and pulls away.

I sit up on my elbows, slowly coming to, still in a slight orgasmic haze. I glance down at the couch, seeing the way the cushions start to darken as the moisture seeps into them slowly.

“Fuck-“ I whisper, attempting to push myself backwards and off the couch. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, worrying Schlatt would be pissed about the mess.

He grabs my hips before I can move too far and pulls me back towards him. His own eyes finally catch the growing stain; I watch him analyze it for a moment before a smile spreads across his face and he starts to laugh softly.

“Baby that’s so hot.” He mumbles sweetly.

“You’re not mad?” I reply quietly, watching his face for any signs he was messing with me.

“Ted’s a dumbass and clumsy as hell, he knew better than to sit on my nice ass couch with that glass.” He starts, tangling his fingers in my hair again. “But I love watching you do that… I’d like you ruin a million couches.”

I bite my lip, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Maybe we need to invest in some cheaper couches then…”

Schlatt scoffs, pressing a kiss to the edge of my mouth, “Never.”

[andy-15-07]

hi not sure if you’ve done this before but id LOVE a fic with pedro pascal helping reader through a depressive episode! completely understandable if you wouldn’t feel comfortable tho. maybe pedro gets home to find reader still in bed/sleeping on the couch and he already knows that she hasn’t taken care of herself all day but he asks her anyway (stuff like have you eaten, have you been out, when was the last time you showered). and then just description of him helping her do these things whilst reader is kind of fighting the help a little bit? like she doesn’t want to be a burden but deep down knows she needs the help. loads of praise and hurt/comfort and fluff!!!!! you are such a great writer im in love with all your fics ☺️☺️

Even If You Can’t Move, I’ll Be Here

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 939| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The key turned softly in the lock.

Pedro pushed the door open with one shoulder, balancing a paper bag of groceries in one hand and your favorite takeout in the other. He wasn’t expecting a grand greeting , he hadn’t gotten one in days , but the quiet stillness in the apartment hit him like a sigh.

You weren’t on the bed.

You were curled up on the couch again. Same oversized hoodie. Same blanket from the night before. Curtains still drawn, the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Pedro’s heart clenched.

He set the bags down gently, not wanting to startle you, though he wasn’t sure you’d even notice.

You did.

Barely.

A flutter of your eyes, then a quick glance away. No smile. Just the sinking guilt in your chest and the shame you couldn’t explain. Your throat felt tight before he even said anything.

Pedro crouched beside you, hand brushing your arm. “Hi, cariño.”

You swallowed hard. “Hi.”

He tilted his head. “Did you eat today?”

A pause.

“Not really.”

“Get outside at all?”

You shook your head.

He hesitated before asking gently, “When was the last time you showered?”

You almost wanted to laugh , not because it was funny, but because it made you feel even more disgusting. The tears started building before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pedro sat down beside you, arms opening before you could even blink. You fell into them like you always did , like gravity , and he held you close without a word.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just… tired. And that’s okay.”

“I feel gross.”

“You’re not.”

“I haven’t done anything today.”

“You’re still mine. And I still love you.”

Your face crumpled against his shoulder.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to take care of yourself. It was that every little task , getting up, brushing your teeth, opening a window , felt like climbing a mountain barefoot in the snow.

Pedro didn’t rush you. Just let you cry quietly for a while, his hand running slowly up and down your back. When your sobs faded into shaky silence, he pulled back to look at you.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We’re gonna do a few little things together, alright?”

You started to protest, but he kissed your forehead.

“Not all of them. Just a few. I’ll help.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You could never be. You’re the person I love most in this world. And I want to take care of you, even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t think I can do everything.”

“Then we’ll do the smallest version of everything.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means… we start with one thing. Like brushing our teeth. Together. I’ll even let you pick my toothpaste like a little gremlin.”

That got a soft, tired laugh from you.

“Then we can try something else. Maybe a shower. And then food. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just something. You can wear one of my shirts after, if that helps.”

You nodded slowly, still unsure, still hollow , but his voice felt like a lighthouse in the dark.

Pedro stood and reached for your hands. “C’mon. Let’s start with the bathroom.”

You followed, moving slowly, socked feet shuffling along the hardwood. It felt weird to be upright. But it also felt a little like relief.

In the bathroom, Pedro handed you your toothbrush with a small smile and squeezed toothpaste onto it.

“There. Hard part’s over.”

You managed to copy him, brushing in slow, lazy circles. He stood beside you, doing the same, humming something off-key under his breath. It made you snort a little, and he beamed at the sound.

“See?” he said, rinsing. “You’re killin’ it already.”

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“But you are,” he said firmly. “And I’m proud of you.”

The words settled in your chest like warmth. Like maybe they were enough to anchor you here, in this body, in this space where someone loved you even at your lowest.

Next was the shower.

Pedro didn’t rush you. He handed you clean towels and a fresh T-shirt (one of his) and sat on the edge of the bed while you stood under the warm water, letting it wash over the weight clinging to your bones.

You cried a little again , not because you were sad, exactly. Just… tired. Just overwhelmed.

And when you stepped out, eyes red, Pedro wrapped you in a towel like it was armor and kissed your cheek.

“You did it,” he said, grinning. “I’m so proud.”

You curled up next to him in bed afterward while he brought the food , your favorite noodles, not too hot, with broth on the side. You only ate a few bites, but he didn’t push. Just smiled and kissed your temple.

“This isn’t forever,” he said softly, pulling you into his arms as you laid back down. “I know your brain’s lying to you right now. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You buried your face in his chest.

“I don’t feel like myself.”

“That’s okay. I’ll hold the pieces until you do.”

Tears pricked your eyes again , but this time, they weren’t so sharp. More like a release.

Pedro pulled the blanket up around you both and whispered again, “I love you. Every version of you. Even this one.”

And for the first time in days, you believed it might be true.

[yvaineseleneposts]

The End of the Year, and the Start of Us

A/N: I have been gone, and I am so sorry. The end of the school year is coming! I have so many tests to grade and graduation speeches to write for my graduating class. I am honestly so proud of my students and I don't think my eyes will be dry during graduation, so here is a piece I wrote about that. Also, I am writing a series, but I want it to be more complete when I start posting that.

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: under 1k

Warning(s): a lil sad, supportive Nico

The classroom was quiet now.

Streamers drooped lazily from the whiteboard, a few forgotten paper caps scattered on desks like tiny remnants of the celebration. You leaned against your desk, arms crossed, blinking faster than usual as you stared at the chairs that had once held a dozen little lives, now empty.

Graduation day was always like this. Happy. Loud. Proud.

And then, quiet.

The tears had come right on time, just after the last parent had waved goodbye, and your students had walked out of your life a little taller than when they came in.

Earlier in the day, you'd stood on stage with a carefully folded stack of index cards clutched tightly in your hand. You had written a short speech for each of your students — personalized, heartfelt words meant to celebrate their growth, their quirks, their potential. You made it halfway through the third one before your voice cracked. By the time you'd reached the last, you were openly crying — and so were they.

Some hugged you like they never wanted to let go. One slipped a bracelet onto your wrist, handmade with tiny beads spelling "BEST TEACHER." You tried to keep it together, but it was no use. The bond you'd built with these kids had become a part of you.

You hadn’t even noticed Nico standing in the doorway.

“I brought you an iced coffee,” he said softly, holding up the cup like an offering.

You turned around and tried to smile, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Thanks,” you sniffled, taking it with a grateful nod. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

He stepped inside, giving the classroom a once-over. “Didn’t want you to be alone today.”

That was the thing about Nico. He didn’t make a big show of things. No dramatic speeches, no trying to fix everything. He just showed up. Solid. Steady.

Kind.

You sipped the coffee and sank down into your chair. “They’re gone. All of them. Just like that.”

He sat on the desk across from yours, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You helped them get here. That’s huge.”

“It feels like losing something.”

He nodded slowly. “I know that feeling.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From hockey?”

“Sort of,” he said, and then shrugged. “When teammates leave. When seasons end. Even when you win, it’s still over.”

You hadn’t thought of it like that.

There was silence for a moment. The soft hum of the building’s AC unit filled the air.

“I just keep wondering if I did enough,” you admitted.

“You did more than enough,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen how much you care. That doesn’t go away when they leave. They’ll remember it.”

You looked at him, really looked this time. His expression was so open, so sure.

Nico reached for your hand across the desk. “This year’s over, yeah. But you’re still here. Still making a difference.”

You squeezed his hand, letting yourself lean into that warmth for a second.

“And,” he added, lips twitching into a crooked smile, “you still have me.”

You laughed through your tears. “Yeah. I do.”

He stood and pulled you gently up to your feet. “Come on. Let’s go celebrate your year.”

You blinked. “Celebrate?”

He grinned now, boyish and sweet. “Ice cream and a long walk. Maybe a little dancing in the kitchen later.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Not always,” he said. “But I’m trying.”

You locked the door behind you, taking one last look at the empty classroom. And then Nico wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leading you out into the soft light of the evening.

Another year had ended.

But something else was just beginning.

[jd-loves-fiction]

hello! for the valentines event, can i request a piece with isagi from blue lock?

the general idea is about childhood friends to lovers, with reader owning a coffeeshop and isagi being a pro player who visits the cafe quite often. since being kids, they were unseparable, until high school and the blue lock thing starting; then, both isagi and reader started noticing the subtle changes and how pretty/handsome the other is. after blue lock and isagi becoming the pro player, they couldn't see each other that often, so some angst and misunderstandings could fit in here, overall i ask for fluff!

if i messed up something or didn't explain properly please ask, i am currently losing my mind over him and am not thinking straight

(and hi! could we by any chance become moots? you seem really cool and making friends here is hard >.<)

🌑Of course honey!! Nearly had a heart attack thinking Tumblr deleted this request but it just didn't show up on desktop for some fucking reason 🙃

Anyway here it is i'm quite proud of it. Also since i got a job I've been focused on adjusting so i've been writing slowly but it's picking up! :)

𝓘 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮!

Isagi’s shoulders ache, so do his thighs and his feet and just about everything else. But such is the life of a professional football player – even when there’s no official game, training always succeeds in kicking his ass.

Although, the sight of your face at the end of a long day whenever he had the time to visit always serves to make it all more bearable, like a reward.

You’re buzzing around behind the counter like a busy bee when he arrives, despite the lack of customers  currently ordering – seems like closing hours might be especially busy for the sole worker for the day, who also happens to own the store.

Watching you from afar helps to settle his nerves slightly, but only slightly. You're no longer kids, and that knowledge weighs on him through every interaction – feeling as if he’s both too stiff and overstepping all at once somehow.

Little does he and his usually abnormally observant eyes know, you're having the same problem. Everytime you catch a glimpse of him outside the shop window, you take an instinctive moment to make sure you don't look too frazzled – an automatic action that greatly confused you at first. Why do you care if he sees you like that? Every other customer does.

But he’s not every other customer, obviously, even before you grew apart and the distance someone made your heart grow fonder, he’s always been special to you – just in a different way.

The one who never laughed at your little coffee shop dream, the one whose immense determination in his own dream you always admired – Isagi Yoichi, then best friend, now pro-player whom you barely get to see nowadays.

The bell above the door rings as it opens, a head of dark hair coming though and a pair of blue eyes locking with yours immediately upon entry. You exchange tight-lipped smiles as you put the finishing touches on his usual order, before he’s had the chance to order it.

As you work, you covertly (or so you think) observe him as he moves closer to the counter… before being cut off by some girl excitedly dashing up to him to ask for a picture. Fine, that's fine, totally normal for a decently world-famous athlete, no reason to make it weird… Except for the swirling ugliness in the pit of your stomach – twisting, writhing like some creature from the depths, aching to grab that girl by the shoulders and–

And nothing, because anything else would be stupid and silly. Pulling a girl's pigtails for trying to steal Isagi’s first kiss may have been somewhat acceptable in kindergarten, but no longer.

So you do what is acceptable; side eyeing them both as you finish up the orders you've taken.

“Hey–” you nearly slam the plastic cup in front of your childhood friend (once that girl is pulled away by her friend), thankful for the lid or else it would've sloshed all over his shirt. “Thanks… how'd you–”

“You've asked for the same thing since before Blue Lock and every time you try something different you never like it so, it's not too hard to guess what your order would be.” He still blinks at you as if you've said something utterly bizarre. You shake it in his direction to indicate he should take it and he does.

“When do you get off work?” he says it so quietly you nearly ask him to repeat himself, “5 o'clock.” He nods, hands fiddling with the straps of his backpack nervously – strange, he's never been one to fidget.

As the day winds down too many customers start coming in for you to linger on what he could possibly be nervous about.

You keep an eye on the corner he settles in as you work, alone during the afternoon rush as you are any other, though this one seems a bit busier for some reason… and there's a lot more pink?

No time – not for wondering if you've forgotten something important or to think about how the light catches on Isagi's blue hair as he sips his drink, casting glances towards you and locking gazes every time you do the same – no, no time for that.

You've nearly forgotten all about Isagi once the late afternoon rush has passed, the back of your neck sticky from the harsh lighting and feet throbbing slightly. Wiping down the counter as the last of your patrons filter out slowly, a shadow comes over you, blocking what little sunlight still lingers, “So, uhm, wanna walk home together? You know, like before?”

It almost sounds like he was going to say something else with how he trips over his words but you’re too tired to push, “Sure. Let me just close up.”

Isagi continuously shuffles from one foot to the other as you check over everything before locking up, fiddling with the straps on his duffle bag while waiting for you. You can just about catch him reaching into it once before taking his hand away, changing his mind. His face is still beet red.

“Ready?” You ask him, already starting to walk away from the building.

“Wait! Just… one thing.”

You turn back to him upon hearing his words and taking note of the shakiness of his voice, to see him with darting eyes and hands behind his back, looking like his heart might just run out of his chest from the nervousness.

As you stare at him expectantly, Isagi finally remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, puffing out his chest in an attempt to steel himself. You’re damn near holding your breath by the time he decides to move again, pulling the mysterious object from behind his back to reveal…

“Flowers…?”

“Y-Yeah, since it’s Valentine's I thought–”

“It’s Valentine’s?” The boy you once knew, now a man, looks at you like he once used to whenever you would steal his football and make him chase you down in order to finally play with him – exasperated and silently praying you aren't serious. “I mean, I kinda knew that I just… kinda sorta forgot until now.”

Isagi heaves a deep sigh, ending in a defeated sort of chuckle, he raises the beautiful, custom bouquet of all kinds of flowers (seemingly as to cover as many bases as possible since he likely doesn't know what flowers you’d like) towards you. You take it gingerly from his hands, waiting patiently for what he has to say.

“I think I’ve always loved you. In some way. I just never realized it, until now. At some point during Blue Lock I started feeling like something was missing– no, like something was taken from me. And it wasn't just my phone and… everything else they took – it was you. Every time I felt discouraged I wished you were there to cheer me up like you always used to do when we were kids. At some point that ache became its own motivation, thinking that you’d tell me how proud you were if I won.”

“Listen, I wrote a whole speech, but it doesn't feel right anymore. I love you. I don't know if you feel the same but I just– I just needed to tell you.” The sound of crinkling paper sounds between you, seemingly echoing as you clench and unclench your grip around the sheets enveloping the array of beautiful flowers in your hands.

You think to yourself that there's nothing you could possibly say to that that would even come close matching it in how raw that confession was. So you surge forward to kiss him, clutching the flowers to your chest in order to not drop them.

The kiss is light, full of hesitation and restraint, but earnest, made of love that’s been brewing for years and is now finally realized, “I love you too. And I think that speech was perfect.”

Isagi chuckles, releasing all the tension in his broad shoulders all at once, and though he looks like all he wants to do is kiss you again, he speaks instead, “That’s all I needed to hear.”

[icycoldninja]

hi!! This is my first time requesting from you! Could you pretty please do a dante x m! Reader where reader has like a revive/cloning ability? Dante doesn't know about it and then boom reader just 💀 and then BOOM hes alive (angst and fluff please hehe)

Oho yes

Dante x Male!Reader with the ability to revive himself headcannons

-Dante is always extremely protective of you, but not in the harsh, grouchy way that you might expect.

-He doesn't restrict you from doing things, but rather follows you everywhere, from the grocery store to a simple, local mission, making comments and jokes that no one asked for along the way.

-He only does this because he wants to make sure he's never absent when you're in danger. He knows keeping you completely safe is impossible, since demons are constantly hunting relatives of Sparda and their associates, but he still wants to protect you as best he can, and the best way to do that, in his mind, is to hover over you wherever you go.

-One day, you two were dispatched to a particularly nasty battlefield where literal droves of powerful demons immediately set their sights on you the moment you showed up.

-Dante had never been so powerless. One second, you were there, weapon at the ready and on the verge of attacking the nearest creature; the next, you were gone, swallowed up by a flood of snarling, bloodthirsty beasts.

-Panic quickly overtaking him, Dante hacked his way through the throng, trying everything he could to get to you, but no matter how hard he fought, the sea of bodies was seemingly endless. He couldn't see you anymore, couldn't hear you, and was afraid he'd lost you forever.

-Seeing a piece of fabric lying on the ground—a piece of fabric that looked oddly like your clothes—scared him even more. He completely forgot about the things clawing at his back and raced towards it, barely managing to swallow a choked scream when he saw you lying in the middle of the stampede, surrounded by demon corpses, badly beaten and bleeding all over.

-With trembling hands, he scooped you up into his arms and searched for a pulse. There wasn't one. He lowered his ear to your nose and mouth, hoping to feel a weak puff of air, but felt nothing.

-Fully convinced that you were dead, Dante gently laid your body back down on the ground, gave you a tender kiss on the lips, whispered, "I love you", and immediately went berserk on the swarm of demons behind him.

-One Devil Trigger and about twenty seconds later, the battlefield is littered with the corpses of demons, and a blood-soaked Dante is slowly making his way back to where he left you, just in time to watch you stretch your legs, plant your feet firmly in the ground, and rise up like you're fucking possessed.

-Dante just stands there, frozen in place and capable only of watching as you brush the dirt off of your clothes, looking around, catching sight of him, then approaching.

-He can't believe you're actually alive—and doesn't, not until you smile at him and hold your arms out as if you were expecting a hug. His whole body trembling, he decides to take a few heavy steps forward and feels you slump into his embrace.

-He holds you close, stunned and unable to formulate a greeting, a witty joke, or anything in between. He doesn't even move until you pat him on the back and go "Miss me already? I was only gone for a few minutes."

-He doesn't understand how you're even alive and talking to him right now when he remembers so clearly having checked and confirmed your death. It's not until you kiss him on the cheek and explain you had a special ability did he finally put two and two together.

-So, you apparently had the power to resurrect yourself? Well, that's convienent. It's also terrifying, knowing that he might have to watch you die day after day, only to have you run back into his arms a few moments after.

-After squeezing you so tight you thought you might die again, Dante made you promise to always be careful, even if you could come back from the dead, because there was always a chance that one day, your powers would stop working.

-Of course, you're happy to humor him, because honestly, seeing your Dante, who is normally so bright and always ready with a corny quip, shaking like a puppy that had been left out in the rain broke your heart. You don't want to do that to him again.